
CUEHUGHT OEPOSm 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

and 

AN OLD THORN 



WORKS BY W, E. HUDSON 

A SHEPHERD'S LIFE 

THE PURPLE LAND 

BIRDS IN TOWN AND VILLAGE 

A CRYSTAL AGE 

IDLE DAYS IN PATAGONIA 

ADVENTURES AMONG BIRDS 

FAR AWAY AND LONG AGO 

A NATURALIST IN LA PLATA 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

and 

AN OLD THORN 

BY 

W. H. HUDSON^ F.Z.S.) 

AUTHOR OF 

"The Purple Land," "Birds in Town and Village," 
"Far Away and Long Ago," etc., etc. 




NEW YORK 
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 

68i FIFTH AVENUE 



Copyright 1920, by 
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 



AU rights reserved 



Printed in the United States of America 

DEC 10 1920 
©CLAC01911 

•WD \ 



CONTENTS 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK „,,^ 

PAGE 

Preamble 3 

1 13 

II 17 

in. 21 

IV. 28 

V. 36 

VI 47 

VII 58 

VIII 67 

IX 75 

X 87 

XL 98 

XII 117 

AN OLD THORN 

1 13s 

n 148 

m iss 

POSTSCRIPT 

Dead Man's Place i73 

An Old Thorn 178 

V 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 



PREAMBLE 

"^Tp HE insect tribes of human kind" is a mode 
-*■ of expression we are familiar with in the 
poets, moralists and other superior persons, or 
beings, who viewing mankind from their own 
vast elevation see us all more or less of one size 
and very, very small. No doubt the comparison 
dates back to early, probably Pliocene times, 
when someone climbed to the summit of a very 
tall cliff and looking down and seeing his fellows 
so diminished in size as to resemble insects, not 
so gross as beetles perhaps but rather like em- 
mets, he laughed in the way they laughed then 
at the enormous difference between his stature 
and theirs. Hence the time-honoured and ser- 
viceable metaphor. 

Now with me, in this particular instance it 
was all the other way about — from insect to man 
— seeing that it was when occupied in watching 
the small comedies and tragedies of the insect 
world on its stage that I stumbled by chance 

3 



4 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

upon a compelling reminder of one of the great- 
est tragedies in England's history — greatest, that 
is to say, in its consequences. And this is how 
it happened. 

One summer day prowling in an extensive oak 
wood, in Hampshire, known as Harewood For- 
est, I discovered that it counted among its in-, 
habitants no fewer than three species of insects 
of peculiar interest to me, and from that time I 
haunted it, going there day after day to spend 
long hours in pursuit of my small quarry. Not 
to kill and preserve their diminutive corpses in 
a cabinet, but solely to witness the comedy of 
their brilliant little lives. And as I used to take 
my luncheon in my pocket I fell into the habit of 
going to a particular spot, some opening in the 
dense wood with a big tree to lean against and 
give me shade, where after refreshing myself 
with food and drink I could smoke my pipe in 
solitude and peace. Eventually I came to pre- 
fer one spot for my midday rest in the central 
part of the wood, where a stone cross, slender, 
beautifully proportioned and about eighteen 
feet high, had been erected some seventy or 
eighty years before by the lord of the manor. 



PREAMBLE 5 

On one side of the great stone block on which 
the cross stood there was an inscription which 
told that it was placed there to mark the spot 
known from of old as Dead Man's Plack; that, 
according to tradition, handed from father to 
son, it was just here that King Edgar slew his 
friend and favourite, Earl Athelwold, when 
hunting in the forest. 

I had sat there on many occasions and had 
glanced from time to time at the inscription cut 
on the stone, once actually reading it, without 
having my attention drawn away from the in- 
sect world I was living in. It was not the tra- 
dition of the Saxon king nor the beauty of the 
cross in that green wilderness which drew me 
daily to the spot, but its solitariness and the little 
open space where I could sit in the shade and 
have my rest. 

Then something happened. Some friends 
from town came down to me at the hamlet I 
was staying at, and one of the party, the mother 
of most of them, was not only older than the rest 
of us in years but also in knowledge and wisdom; 
and at the same time she was younger than the 
youngest of us since she had the curious mind, 



6 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

the undying interest in everything on earth — the 
secret, in fact, of everlasting youth. Naturally, 
being of this temperament, she wanted to know 
what I was doing and all about what I had seen, 
even to the minutest detail — the smallest insect — 
and in telling her of my days I spoke casually of 
the cross placed at a spot called Dead Man's 
Plack. This at once reminded her of something 
she had heard about it before, but long ago, in 
the seventies of last century; then presently it all 
came back to her and it proved to me an interest- 
ing story. 

It chanced that in that far back time she was 
in correspondence on certain scientific and 
literary subjects with a gentleman who was a 
native of this part of Hampshire in which we 
were staying, and that they got into a discussion 
about Freeman, the historian, during which he 
told her of an incident of his undergraduate days 
when Freeman was professor at Oxford. He at- 
tended a lecture by that man on the Mythical 
and Romantic Elements in Early English History 
in which he stated for the guidance of all v/ho 
study the past, that they must ahvays bear in 
mind the inevitable passion for romance in men, 



PREAMBLE 7 

especially the uneducated, and that when the 
student comes upon a romantic incident in early 
history even when it accords with the known 
character of the person it relates to, he must re- 
ject it as false. Then, to rub the lesson in, he 
gave an account of the most flagrant of the ro- 
mantic lies contained in the history of the Saxon 
kings. This was the story of King Edgar and 
how his favourite. Earl Athelwold, deceived him 
as to the reputed beauty of Elfrida, and how 
Edgar in revenge slew Athelwold with his own 
hand when hunting. Then — to show how false it 
all was ! — Edgar, the chronicles state, was at Salis- 
bury and rode in one day to Harewood Forest 
and there slew Athelwold. Now, said Freeman, 
as Harewood Forest is in Yorkshire Edgar could 
not have ridden there from Salisbury in one day, 
nor in two, nor in three, which was enough to 
show that the whole story was a fabrication. 

The undergraduate, listening to the lecturer, 
thought the Professor was wrong owing to his 
ignorance of the fact that the Harewood Forest 
in which the deed was done was in Hampshire, 
within a day's ride from Salisbury, and that local 
tradition points to the very spot in the forest 



8 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

where Athelwold was slain. Accordingly he 
wrote to the Professor and gave him these facts. 
His letter was not answered; and the poor youth 
felt hurt, as he thought he was doing Professor 
Freeman a service by telling him something he 
didn't know. He didn't know his Professor 
Freeman. 

This story about Freeman tickled me because 
I dislike him, but if anyone were to ask me why 
I dislike him I should probably have to answer 
like a woman : Because I do. Or if stretched on 
the rack until I could find or invent a better 
reason, I should perhaps says it was because he 
was so infernally cock-sure, so convinced that he 
and he alone had the power of distinguishing 
between the true and false; also that he was so 
arbitrary and arrogant and ready to trample on 
those who doubted his infallibility. 

All this, I confess, would not be much to say 
against him, seeing that it is nothing but the 
ordinary professorial or academic mind, and I 
suppose that the only difference between Free- 
man and the ruck of the professors was that he 
was more impulsive or articulate and had 2L 
greater facility in expressing his scorn. 



PREAMBLE ^ 

Here I may mention in passing that when this 
lecture appeared in print in his Historical 
Essays he had evidently been put out a little and 
also put on his mettle by that letter from an un- 
dergraduate and had gone more deeply into the 
documents relating to the incident, seeing that he 
now relied mainly on the discrepancies in half 
a dozen chronicles he was able to point out to 
prove its falsity. His former main argument 
now appeared as a "small matter of detail"— a 
"confusion of geography" in the different ver- 
sions of the old historians. But one tells us, 
Freeman writes, that Athelwold was killed in 
the Forest of Wherwell on his way to York, and 
then he says : "Now as Wherwell is in Hamp- 
shire it could not be on the road to York"; and 
further on he says: "Now Harewood Forest in 
Yorkshire is certainly not the same as Wherwell 
in Hampshire," and so on, and on, and on, but 
always careful not to say that Wherwell Forest 
and Harewood Forest are two names for one and 
the same place, although now the name of 
Wherwell is confined to the village on the Test 
where it is supposed Athelwold had his castle 
and lived with his wife before he was killed and 



lo DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

where Elfrida in her declining years, when try- 
ing to make her peace with God, came and built 
a Priory and took the habit herself and there 
finished her darkened life. 

This then was how he juggled with words and 
documents and chronicles (his thimble-rigging), 
making a truth a lie or a lie a truth according as 
it suited a froward and prejudicate mind, to 
quote the expression of an older and simpler- 
minded historian — Sir Walter Raleigh. 

Finally, to wind up the whole controversy, he 
says you are to take it as a positive truth that 
Edgar married Elfrida and a positive falsehood 
that Edgar killed Athelwold. Why — seeing 
there is as good authority and reason for believ- 
ing the one statement as the other? A foolish 
question! Why? — Because I, Professor or Pope 
Freeman, say so. 

The main thing here is the effect the Freeman 
anecdote had on me, which was that when I 
went back to continue my insect-watching and 
rested at noon at Dead Man's Plack, the old 
Legend would keep intruding itself on my mind, 
until wishing to have done with it, I said and I 
swore that it was true — that the tradition pre- 



PREAMBLE n 

served in the neighbourhood, that on this very 
spot Athelwold was slain by the king, was better 
than any document or history. It was an act 
which had been witnessed by many persons and 
the memory of it preserved and handed down 
from father to son for thirty generations; for it 
must be borne in mind that the inhabitants of 
this district of Andover and the villages on the 
Test have never in the last thousand years been 
exterminated or expelled. And ten centuries is 
not so long for an event of so startling a character 
to persist in the memory of the people when we 
consider that such traditions have come down to 
us even from prehistoric times and have proved 
true. Our archaeologists, for example, after long 
study of the remains, cannot tell us how long ago 
— centuries or thousands of years — a warrior 
with golden armour was buried under the great 
cairn at Mold in Flintshire. 

And now the curious part of all this matter 
comes in. Having taken my side in the contro- 
versy and made my pronouncement, I found that 
I was not yet free of it. It remained with me 
but in a new way — not as an old story in old 
books, but as an event, or series of events, now: 



12 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

being re-enacted before my very eyes. I actually 
saw and heard it all, from the very beginning to 
the dreadful end; and this is what I am now go- 
ing to relate. But whether or not I shall in my 
relation be in close accord with what history tells 
us I know not nor does it matter in the least. 
For just as the religious mystic is exempt from 
the study of theology and the whole body of re- 
ligious doctrine and from all the observances 
necessary to those who in fear and trembling are 
seeking their salvation; even so those who have 
been brought to the Gate of Remembrance are 
independent of written documents, chronicles 
and histories and of the weary task of separating 
the false from the true. They have better sources 
of information. For I am not so vain as to 
imagine for one moment that without such ex- 
ternal aid I am able to make shadows breathe, 
revive the dead, and know what silent mouths 
once said. 



fr 



I 



When, sitting at noon in the shade of an oaK- 
tree at Dead Man's Plack, I beheld Edgar, I 
almost ceased to wonder at the miracle that had 
happened in this war-mad, desolated England, 
where Saxon and Dane, like two infuriated bull- 
dogs, were everlastingly at grips, striving to tear 
each other's throats out, and deluging the coun- 
try with blood; when, ceasing from their strife, 
they had all at once agreed to live in peace and 
unity side by side under the young king; and this 
seemingly unnatural state of things endured 
even to the end of his life, on which account he 
was called Edgar the Peaceful. 

He was beautiful in person and had infinite 
charm and these gifts together with the kingly 
qualities, which have won the admiration of all 
men of all ages, endeared him to his people. He 
was but thirteen when he came to be king of 
united England and small for his age, but even 

13 



14 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

in those terrible times he was remarkable for his 
courage, both physical and moral. Withal he 
had a subtle mind; indeed I think he surpassed 
all our kings of the past thousand years in com- 
bining so many excellent qualities. His was the 
wisdom of the serpent combined with the gentle- 
ness — I will not say of the dove, but rather of the 
cat, our little tiger on the hearthrug, the most 
beautiful of four-footed things, so lithe, so soft, 
of so affectionate a disposition, yet capable when 
suddenly roused to anger of striking with light- 
ning rapidity and rending the offender's flesh 
with its cruel unsheathed claws. 

Consider the line he took, even as a boy! He 
recognised, among all those who surrounded him, 
in his priestly adviser the one man of so great a 
mind as to be capable of assisting him effectually 
in ruling so divided, war-loving and revengeful 
a people, and he allowed him practically un- 
limited power to do as he liked. He went even 
further by pretending to fall in with Dun- 
stan's ambitions of purging the Church of the 
order of priests or half-priests, or canons, who 
were in possession of most of the religious houses 
in England and were priests that married wives 



DEAD MAN^S PLACK ij 

and owned lands and had great power. Against 
this monstrous state of things Edgar rose up in 
his simulated wrath and cried out to Archbishop 
Dunstan in a speech he delivered to sweep them 
away and purify the Church and country from 
such a scandal! 

But Edgar himself had a volcanic heart and 
to witness it in full eruption it was only necessary 
to convey to him the tidings of some woman of 
a rare loveliness ; and have her he would, in spite 
of all laws human and divine; thus when in- 
flamed with passion for a beautiful nun he did 
not hesitate to smash the gates of a convent to 
drag her forth and forcibly make her his mis- 
tress. And this too was a dreadful scandal but 
no great pother could be made about it, seeing 
that Edgar was so powerful a friend of the 
church and pure religion. 

Now all the foregoing is contained in the his- 
tories but in what follows I have for sole light 
and guide the vision that came to me at Dead 
Man's Plack, and have only to add to this intro- 
ductory note that Edgar at the early age of 
twenty-two was a widower, having already had 



i6 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

to wife Ethelfled the Fair, who was famous for 
her beauty, and who died shortly after giving 
birth to a child who lived to figure later in his- 
tory as one of England's many Edwards. 



II 



Now although King Edgar had dearly loved 
his wife, who was also beloved by all his people 
on account of her sweet and gentle disposition 
as well as of her exceeding beauty, it was not in 
his nature to brood long over such a loss. He had 
too keen a zest for life and the many interests 
and pleasures it had for him ever to become a 
melancholy man. It was a delight to him to be 
king and to perform all kingly duties and offices. 
Also he was happy in his friends, especially in 
his favourite, the Earl Athelwold, who was like 
him in character, a man after his own heart. 
They were indeed like brothers and some of 
those who surrounded the king were not too well 
pleased to witness this close intimacy. Both 
were handsome men, witty, of a genial disposi- 
tion, yet under a light careless manner brave and 
ardent, devoted to the pleasure of the chase and 
all other pleasures especially to those bestowed 

17 



i8 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

by golden Aphrodite, their chosen saint, albeit 
her name did not figure in the Calendar. 

Hence it was not strange, when certain reports 
of the wonderful beauty of a woman in the West 
Country were brought to Edgar's ears that his 
heart began to burn within him and that by and 
by he opened himself to his friend on the sub- 
ject. He told Athelwold that he had discovered 
the one woman in England fit to be Ethelfled's 
successor and that he had resolved to make her 
his queen although he had never seen her, since 
she and her father had never been to court. That 
however would not deter him: there was no 
other woman in the land whose claims were 
equal to hers, seeing that she was the only daugh- 
ter and part heiress of one of the greatest men in 
the kingdom, Ongar, Earldoman of Devon and 
Somerset, a man of vast possessions and great 
power. Yet all that was of less account to him 
than her fame, her personal worth, since she was 
reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the 
land. It was for her beauty that he desired her, 
and being of an exceedingly impatient temper in 
any case in which beauty in a woman was con- 
cerned, he desired his friend to proceed at once 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 19 

to Earl Ongar in Devon with an offer of mar- 
riage to his daughter Elfrida, from the King. 

Athelwold laughed at Edgar in this his most 
solemn and kingly mood and with a friend's 
privilege told him not to be so simple as to buy 
a pig in a poke. The lady, he said, had not been 
to court, consequently she had not been seen by 
those best able to judge of her reputed beauty. 
Her fame rested wholly on the report of the 
people of her own country who were great as 
everyone knew at blowing their own trumpets. 
Their red and green county was England's para- 
dise; their men the bravest and handsomest and 
their women the most beautiful in the land. For 
his part he believed there were as good men and 
as fair women in Mercia and East Anglia as in 
the West. Itwould certainly be an awkward busi- 
ness if the king found himself bound in honour 
to wed with a person he did not like. Awkward 
because of her father's fierce pride and power. 
A better plan would be to send someone he could 
trust not to make a mistake to find»out the truth 
of the report. 

Edgar was pleased at his friend's wise caution 
and j)raised him for his candour, which was that 



20 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

of a true friend, and as he was the only man he 
could thoroughly trust in such a matter he would 
send him. Accordingly, Athelwold, still much 
amused at Edgar's sudden wish to make an offer 
of marriage to a woman he had never seen, set 
out on his journey in great state with many at- 
tendants, as befitted his person and his missionj 
which was ostensibly to bear greetings and lov- 
ing messages from the king to some of his 
most important subjects in the West Country. 

In this way he travelled through Wilts, Som- 
erset and Devon and in due time arrived at Earl 
Ongar's castle on the Exe. 



Ill 



Athelwold, who thought highly of himself, 
had undertaken his mission with a light heart, 
but now when his progress in the West had 
brought him to the great Earldoman's castle it 
was borne in on him that he had put himself in 
a very responsible position. He was here to look 
at this woman with cold critical eyes, which was 
easy enough ; and having looked at and measured 
and weighed her he would make a true report to 
Edgar; that too would be easy for him, since all 
his power and happiness in life depended on the 
king's continual favour. But Ongar stood be- 
tween him and the woman he had come to see 
and take stock of with the clear, unbiassed judg- 
ment which he could safely rely on. And Ongar 
was a proud and stern old man, jealous of his 
great position, who had not hesitated to say on 
Edgar's accession to the kingship, knowing well 
that his w^ords would be reported in due time, 
that he refused to be one of the crowd who came 

21 



22 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

flocking from all over the land to pay homage to 
a boy. It thus came about that neither then nor 
at any subsequent period had there been any per- 
sonal relations between the king and this English 
subject who was prouder than all the Welsh 
kings who had rushed at Edgar's call to make 
their submission. 

But now when Ongar had been informed that 
the king's intimate friend and confidant was on 
his way to him w^ith greetings and loving mes- 
sages from Edgar, he was flattered and resolved 
to receive him in a friendly and loyal spirit and 
do him all the honour in his power. For Edgar 
was no longer a boy: he was king over all this 
hitherto turbulent realm, East and West from 
sea to sea and from the Land's End to the Tweed, 
and the strange enduring peace of the times was 
a proof of his power. 

It thus came to pass that Athelwold's mission 
was made smooth to him, and when they met and 
conversed the fierce old Earl was so well pleased 
with his visitor that all trace of the sullen hos- 
tility he had cherished tovv^ards the court passed 
away like the shadow of a cloud. And later, in 
the banqueting room, Athelwold came face to 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 23 

face with the woman he had come to look at with 
cold critical eyes like one who examines a horse 
in the interests of a friend who desires to become 
its purchaser. 

Down to that fatal moment the one desire of 
his heart was to serve his friend faithfully in this 
delicate business. Now, the first sight of her, 
the first touch of her hand, wrought a change in 
him and all thought of Edgar and of the pur- 
pose of his visit vanished out of his mind. Even 
he, one of the great nobles of his time, the ac- 
complished courtier and life of the court, stood 
silent like a person spell-bound before this 
woman who had been to no court but had lived 
always with that sullen old man in comparative 
seclusion in a remote province. It was not only 
the beautiful dignity and graciousness with 
which she received him, with the exquisite 
beauty in the lines and colour of her face and her 
hair which if unloosed would have covered her 
to the knees as with a splendid mantle. That 
hair of a colour comparable only to that of the 
sweet gale when that sweet plant is in its golden 
withy or catkin stage in the month of May and 
is clothed with catkins as with a foliage of a deep 



>?;'.t| 



24 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

shining red gold that seems not a colour of earth 
but rather one distilled from the sun itself. Nor 
was it the colour of her eyes, the deep pure blue 
of the lungwort, that blue loveliness seen in no 
other flower on earth. Rather it was the light 
from her eyes which was like lightning that 
pierced and startled him; for that light, that ex- 
pression, was a living spirit looking through his 
eyes into the depths of his soul, knowing all its 
strength and weakness and in the same instant 
resolving to make it her own and have dominion 
over it. 

It was only when he had escaped from the 
power and magic of her presence, when alone in 
his sleeping room, that reflection came to him 
and the recollection of Edgar and of his mission. 
And there was dismay in the thought. For the 
woman was his, part and parcel of his heart and 
soul and life; for that was what her lightning 
glance had said to him, and she could not be 
given to another. No, not to the king! Had any 
man, any friend, ever been placed in so terrible 
a position! Honour? Loyalty? To whichever 
side he inclined he could not escape the crime, 
the base betrayal and abandonment! But loyalty 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 25 

to the king would be the greater crime. Had not 
Edgar himself broken every law of God and man 
to gratify his passion for a woman? Not a 
woman like this! Never would Edgar look on 
her until he, Athelwold, had obeyed her and his 
own heart and made her his for ever! And what 
would come then? He would not consider it- 
he would perish rather than yield her to another! 
That was how the question came before him, 
and how it was settled, during the long sleepless 
'hours when his blood was in a fever and his 
brain on fire; but when day dawned and his 
blood grew cold and his brain was tired, the 
image of Edgar betrayed and in a deadly rage 
became insistent and he rose desponding and in 
dread of the meeting to come. And no sooner 
did he meet her than she overcame him as on the 
previous day; and so it continued during the 
whole period of his visit, racked with passion, 
drawn now to this side, now to that, and when 
he was most resolved to have her then most 
furiously assaulted by loyalty, by friendship, by 
honour, and he was like a stag at bay fighting for 
his life against the hounds. And every time he 
met her, and the passionate words he dared not 



26 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

speak were like confined fire, burning him up in- 
wardly, seeing him pale and troubled she would 
greet him with a smile and look which told him 
she knew that he was troubled in heart, that a 
great conflict was raging in him, also that it was 
on her account and was perhaps because he had 
already bound himself to some other woman, 
some great lady of the land; and now this new 
passion had come to him. And her smile and 
look were like the world-irradiating sun when it 
rises, and the black menacing cloud that brooded 
over his soul would fade and vanish, and he knew 
that she had again claimed him and that he was 
hers. 

So it continued till the very moment of parting 
and again as on their first meeting he stood silent 
and troubled before her; then in faltering words 
told her that the thought of her would travel and 
be with him; that in a little while, perhaps in a 
month or two, he would be rid of a great matter 
which had been weighing heavily on his mind, 
and once free he could return to Devon, if she 
would consent to his paying her another visit. 

She replied smilingly with gracious words, 
with no change from that exquisite, perfect dig- 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 27 

nity which was always hers; nor tremor in her 
speech, but only that understanding look from 
her eyes, which said: Yes, you shall come back to 
me in good time, when you have smoothed the 
way, to claim me for your own. 



IV 



On Athelwold's return the king embraced him 
warmly and was quick to observe a change in 
him — the thinner, paler face and appearance 
generally of one lately recovered from a griev- 
ous illness or who had been troubled in mind. 
Athelwold explained that it had been a painful 
visit to him, due in the first place to the anxiety 
he experienced of being placed in so responsible 
a position, and in the second place the misery it 
was to him to be the guest for many days of such 
a person as the earldoman, a man of a rough, 
harsh aspect and manner who daily made him- 
self drunk at table, after which he would grow 
intolerably garrulous and boastful. Then, when 
his host had been carried to bed by his servants, 
his own wakeful troubled hours would begin. 
For at first he had been struck by the woman's 
fine handsome presence, albeit she was not the 
peerless beauty she had been reported; but when 
he had seen her often and more closely and had 

28 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 29 

conversed with her he had been disappointed. 
There was something lacking; she had not the 
softness, the charm, desirable in a woman; she 
had something of her parent's harshness, and his 
final judgment was that she was not a suitable 
person for the king to marry. 

Edgar was a little cast down at first, but 
quickly recovering his genial manner thanked 
his friend for having served him so well. 

For several weeks following the king and the 
king's favourite were constantly together; and 
during that period Athelwold developed a pe- 
culiar sweetness and affection towards Edgar, 
often recalling to him their happy boyhood days 
in East Anglia when they were like brothers and 
cemented the close friendship which was to last 
them for the whole of their lives. Finally, when 
it seemed to his friend's watchful, crafty mind 
that Edgar had cast the whole subject of his wish 
to marry Elf rida into oblivion and that the time 
was now ripe for carrying out his own scheme, 
he reopened the subject, and said that although 
the lady was not a suitable person to be the king's 
wife it would be good policy on his, Athelwold's, 
part, to win her on account of her position as 



■^ 



30 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

only daughter and part heiress of Ongar, who 
had great power and possessions in the West. 
But he would not move in the matter without 
Edgar's consent. 

Edgar, ever ready to do anything to please his 
friend, freely gave it and only asked him to give 
an assurance that the secret object of his former 
visit to Devon would remain inviolate. Accord- 
ingly Athelwold took a solemn oath that it would 
never be revealed, and Edgar then slapped him 
on the back and wished him Godspeed in his 
wooing. 

Very soon after thus smoothing the way, 
Athelwold returned to Devon and was once 
more in the presence of the woman who had so 
enchanted him, with that same meaning smile on 
her lips and light in her eyes which had been her 
good-bye and her greeting, only now it said to 
him — You have returned as I knew you would 
and I am ready to give myself to you. 

From every point of view it was a suitable 
union, seeing that Athelwold would inherit 
power and great possessions from his father, 
Earldoman of East Anglia, and before long the 
marriage took place, and by and by Athelwold 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 31 

took his wife to Wessex, to the castle he had 
built for himself on the estate of Wherwell, on 
the Test. There they lived together and as they^ 
had married for love they were happy. 

But as the king's intimate friend and the com- 
panion of many of his frequent journeys he could 
not always bide with her nor be with her for any 
great length of time. For Edgar had a restless 
spirit and was exceedingly vigilant and liked to 
keep a watchful eye on the different lately hostile 
nations of Mercia, East Anglia, and North- 
umberland, so that his journeys were many 
and long to these distant parts of his kingdom. 
And he also had his naval forces to inspect at 
frequent intervals. Thus it came about that he 
was often absent from her for weeks and months 
at a stretch. And so the time went on and during 
these long absences a change would come over 
Elfrida; the lovely colour, the enchanting smile, 
the light of her eyes — the outward sign of an in- 
tense brilliant life — would fade, and with eyes 
cast down she would pace the floors or the paths 
or sit brooding in silence by the hour. 

Of all this Athelwold knew nothing, since she 
made no complaint, and when he returned to her 



32 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

the light and life and brilliance would be hers 
again and there was no cloud or shadow on his 
delight. But the cloud would come back over 
her when he again went away. Her only relief 
in her condition was to sit before a fire or when 
out of doors to seat herself on the bank of the 
stream and watch the current. For although it 
was still summer, the month being August, she 
would have a fire of logs lighted in a large cham- 
ber and sit staring at the flames by the hour, and 
sometimes holding her outstretched hands be- 
fore the flames until they were hot she would 
then press them to her lips. Or when the day 
was warm and bright she would be out of doors 
and spend hours by the river gazing at the swift 
crystal current below as if fascinated by the sight 
of the running water. It is a marvellously clear 
water, so that looking down on it you can see the 
rounded pebbles in all their various colours and 
m.arkings lying at the bottom, and if there should 
be a trout lying there facing the current and 
slowly waving his tail from side to side you could 
count the red spots on his side, so clear is the 
water. Even more did the floating water-grass 
hold her gaze — that bright green grass that, 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 33 

rooted in the bed of the stream, sends its thin 
blades to the surface where they float and wave 
like green floating hair. Stooping, she would 
dip a hand in the stream and watch the bright, 
clear water running through the fingers of her 
white hand, then press the hand to her lips. 

Then again when day declined she would quit 
the stream to sit before the blazing logs, staring 
at the flames. What am I doing here? she would 
murmur. And what is this my life? When I 
was at home in Devon I had a dream of Win- 
chester, of Salisbury, or other great towns fur- 
ther away, where the men and women who are 
great in the land meet together and where my 
eyes would perchance sometimes have the happi- 
ness to behold the king himself — my husband's 
close friend and companion. My waking has 
brought a different scene before me; this castle 
in the wilderness, a solitude where from an up- 
per window I look upon leagues of forest, a 
haunt of wild animals. I see great birds soaring 
in the sky and listen to the shrill screams of kite 
and buzzard; and sometimes when lying awake 
on a still night the distant long howl of a wolf. 
Also, it is said, there are great stags, and roe- 



34^ DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

deer, and wild boars and it is Athelwold's joy to 
hunt them and slay them with his spear. A joy 
too when he returns from the hunt or from a long 
absence to play with his beautiful wife — his 
caged bird of pretty feathers and a sweet song to 
soothe him when he is tired. But of his life at 
court he tells me little and of even that little I 
doubt the truth. Then he leaves me and I am 
alone with his retainers — the crowd of serving 
men and women and the armed men to safeguard 
me. I am alone with my two friends which I 
have found, one out of doors the other in, — the 
river which runs at the bottom of the ground 
where I take my walks and the fire I sit before. 
The two friends, companions, and lovers to 
whom all the secrets of my soul are confided. I 
love them, having no other in the world to love, 
and here I hold my hands before the flames until 
it is hot and then kiss the heat, and by the stream 
I kiss my wetted hands. And if I were to remain 
here until this life became unendurable I should 
consider as to which one of these two lovers I 
should give myself. This one I think is too 
ardent in his love — it would be terrible to be 
wrapped round in his fiery arms and feel his 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 35 

fiery mouth on mine. I should rather go to the 
other one to lie down on his pebbly bed and give 
myself to him to hold me in his cool shining arms 
and mix his green hair with my loosened hair. 
But my wish is to live and not die. Let me then 
wait a little longer: let me watch and listen, and 
perhaps some day, by and by, from his own lips, 
I shall capture the secret of this, my caged, soli- 
tary life. 

And the very next day Athelwold, having just 
returned with the king to Salisbury, was once 
more with her; and the brooding cloud had van- 
ished from her life and countenance: she was 
once more his passionate bride, lavishing 
caresses on him, listening with childish delight 
to every word that fell from his lips and desiring 
no other life and no greater happiness than this. 



Vi 



It was early September, and the King with 
some of the nobles who were with him, after 
hunting the deer over against Cranbourne, re- 
turned at evening to Salisbury, and 'after meat 
with some of his intimates they sat late drinking 
wine, and fell into a merry, boisterous mood. 
They spoke of Athelwold who was not with them 
and indulged in some mocking remarks about his 
frequent and prolonged absences from the King's 
company. Edgar took it in good part and smil- 
ingly replied that it had been reported to him 
that the Earl was now wedded to a woman with a 
will. Also he knew that her father, the great 
Earldoman of Devon, had been famed for his 
tremendous physical strength. It was related of 
him that he had once been charged by a furious 
bull, that he had calmly waited the onset and had 
dealt the animal a staggering blow with his fist 
on its head and had then taken it up in his arms 
and hurled it into the river Exe. If, he con- 

36 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 37 

eluded, the daughter had inherited something of 
this power it was not to be wondered at that she 
was able to detain her husband at home. 

Loud laughter followed this pleasantry of the 
King's, then one of the company remarked that 
not a woman's will, though it might be like steel 
of the finest temper, nor her muscular power, 
w^ould serve to change Athelwold's nature or 
keep him from his friend, but only a woman's 
exceeding beauty. 

Then Edgar, seeing that he had been put upon 
the defence of his absent friend and that all of 
them were eager to hear his next word, replied 
that there was no possession a man was prouder 
of than that of a beautiful wife; that it was more 
to him that his own best qualities, his greatest 
actions, or than titles and lands and gold. If 
Athelwold had indeed been so happy as to secure 
the most beautiful woman he would have been 
glad to bring her to court to exhibit her to all — 
friends and foes alike — for his own satisfaction 
and glory. 

Again they greeted his speech with laughter, 
and one cried out, '^Do you believe it?" 

Then another, bolder still, exclaimed, '^It's 



38 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

God's truth that she is the fairest woman in the 
land — perhaps no fairer has been in any land 
since Helen of Troy. This I can swear to," he 
added, smiting the board with his hand, "because 
I have it from one who saw her at her home in 
Devon before her marriage. One v/ho is a bet- 
ter judge in such matters than I am or than any- 
one at this table, not excepting the King, seeing 
that he is not only gifted with the serpent's 
wisdom but with the creature's cold blood as 
well." 

Edgar heard him frowningly, then ended the 
discussion by rising, and silence fell on the com- 
pany, for all saw that he was offended. But he 
was not offended with them, since they knew 
nothing of his and Athelwold's secret, and what 
they thought and felt about his friend was noth- 
ing to him. But these fatal words about El- 
frida's beauty had pierced him with a sudden 
suspicion of his friend's treachery. And Athel- 
wold was the man he greatly loved — the com- 
panion of all his years since their boyhood to- 
gether. If he had betrayed him in this mon- 
strous way — wounding him in his tenderest part! 
The very thought that such a thing might be was 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 39 

like a madness in him. Then he reflected — then 
he remembered, and said to himself: "Yes, let 
me follow his teaching in this matter too, as in 
the other, and exercise caution and look before 
I leap. I shall look and look well and see and 
judge for myself." 

The result was that when his boon companions 
next met him there was no shadow of displeasure 
in him, he was in a peculiarly genial mood and 
so continued. And when his friend returned he 
embraced him and gently upbraided him for 
having kept away for so long a time. He begged 
him to remember that he was his one friend and 
confidant who was more than a brother to him, 
and that if wholly deprived of his company he 
would regard himself as the loneliest man in the 
Kingdom. Then, in a short time he spoke once 
more in the same strain and said he had not yet 
sufficiently honoured his friend before the world 
and that he proposed visiting him at his own 
castle to make the acquaintance of his wife and 
spend a day with him hunting the boar in Hare- 
wood Forest. 

Athelwold, secretly alarmed, made a suitable 
reply expressing his delight at the prospecjt of 



40 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

receiving the King and begging him to give him 
a couple of days' notice before making his visit 
so as to give him time to make all preparation 
for his entertainment. 

This the King promised and also said that this 
would be an informal visit to a friend, that he 
would go alone with some of his servants and 
huntsmen and ride there one day, hunt the next 
day and return to Salisbury on the third day. 
And a little later, when the day of his visit was 
fixed on, Athelwbld returned in haste with an 
anxious mind to his castle. 

Now his hard task and the most painful 
moment of his life had come. Alone with 
Elfrida in her chamber he cast himself down 
before her and with his bowed head resting on 
her knees, made a clean breast of the whole 
damning story of the deceit he had practised 
towards the King in order to win her for him- 
self. In anguish and shedding tears he implored 
her forgiveness, begging her to think of that 
irresistible power of love she had inspired in 
him, which would have made it worse than death 
to see her the wife of another — even of Edgar 
himself — his friend, the brother of his soul. 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 41 

Then he went on to speak of Edgar, who was of 
a sweet and lovable nature, yet capable of a 
deadly fury against those who offended him; and 
this was an offence he would take more to heart 
than any other; he would be implacable if he 
once thought that he had been wilfully deceived, 
and she only could now save them from certain 
destruction. For now it seemed to him that 
Edgar had conceived a suspicion that the ac- 
count he had of her was not wholly true, which 
was that she was a handsome woman but not sur- 
passingly beautiful as had been reputed, not 
graceful, not charming in manner and conversa- 
tion. She could save them by justifying his 
description of her— by using a woman's art to 
lessen instead of enhancing her natural beauty, 
by putting away her natural charm and power to 
fascinate all who approached her. 

Thus he pleaded praying for mercy, even as a 
captive prays to his conqueror for life, and never 
once daring to lift his bowed head to look at her 
face; while she sat motionless and silent, not a 
word, not a sigh, escaping her; and she was like 
a woman carved in stone, with knees of stone on 
which his head rested. 



42 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

Then, at length, exhausted with his passionate 
pleading and frightened at her silence and 
deadly stillness, he raised his head and looked up 
at her face to behold it radiant and smiling. 
Then, looking down lovingly into his eyes, she 
raised her hands to her head and loosening the 
great mass of coiled tresses, let them fall over 
him, covering his head and shoulders and back 
as with a splendid mantle of shining red gold. 
And he, the awful fear now gone, continued 
silently gazing up at her, absorbed in her won- 
derful loveliness. 

Bending down she put her arms round his 
neck and spoke: Do you not know, O Athel- 
wold, that I love you alone and could love no 
other, noble or King; that without you life 
would not be life to me? All you have told me 
endears you more to me, and all you wish me 
to do shall be done, though it may cause your 
king and friend to think meanly of you for 
having given your hand to one so little worthy 
of you. 

She having thus spoken, he was ready to pour 
forth his gratitude in burning words, but she 
would not have it. No more words, she said, 



DEAD MAN'S PLACE 43 

putting her hand on his mouth. Your anxious 
day is over— your burden dropped. Rest here 
on the couch by my side and let me think on all 
there is to plan and do against to-morrow even- 
ing. 

And so they were silent and he, reclining in 
the cushions, watched her face and saw her smile 
and wondered what was passing in her mind to 
cause that smile. Doubtless it was something to 
do with the question of her disguising arts. 

What had caused her to smile was a happy 
memory of the days with Athelwold before their 
marriage, when one day he came in to her with a 
leather bag in his hand and said: Do you who 
are so beautiful yourself, love all beautiful 
things? and do you love the beauty of gems? 
And when she replied that she loved gems above 
all beautiful things, he poured out the contents 
of his bag in her lap— brilliant sapphires, rubies, 
emeralds, opals, pearls in gold setting, in brace- 
lets, necklets, pendants, rings and brooches. And 
when she gloated over this splendid gift, taking 
up gem after gem, exclaiming delightedly at its 
size and colour and lustre, he told her that he 
once knew a man who maintained that it was a 



44 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

mistake for a beautiful woman to wear gems. 
Why? she asked, would he have them wholly 
unadorned? No, he replied, he liked to 
see them wearing gold, saying that gold makes 
the most perfect setting for a woman's beauty, 
just as it does for a precious stone, and its effect 
is to enhance the beauty it surrounds. But the 
woman's beauty has its meeting and central point 
in the eyes and the light and soul in them illu- 
mines the whole face. And in the stone nature 
simulates the eye, and although without a soul, 
its brilliant light and colour make it the equal 
of the eye, and therefore when worn as an orna- 
ment it competes with the eye and in effect 
lessens the beauty it is supposed to enhance. He 
said that gems should be worn only by women 
who are not beautiful, who must rely on some- 
thing extraneous to attract attention, since it 
would be better to a homely woman that men 
should look at her to admire a diamond or 
sapphire than not to look at her at all. She had 
laughed and asked him who the man was who 
had such strange ideas, and he had replied that 
he had forgotten his name. 

Now, recalling this incident after so long a 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 45 

time, it all at once flashed into her mind that 
Edgar was the man he had spoken of; she knew, 
now because, always secretly watchtul, she had^ 
noted that he never spoke of Edgar or heard 
Edgar spoken of without a slight subtle change 
in the expression of his face, also, if he spoke, in 
the tone of his voice. It was the change that 
comes into the face and into the tone when one 
remembers or speaks of the person most lovecl" 
in all the world. And she remembered now that 
he had that changed expression and tone of voice 
when he had spoken of the man whose name he 
pretended to have forgotten. 

And while she sat thinking of this it grew 
dark in the room, the light of the fire having 
died down. Then presently, in the profound 
stillness of the room, she heard the sound of his 
deep, regular breathing and knew that he slept 
and that it was a sweet sleep after his anxious 
day. Going softly to the hearth, she moved the 
yet still glowing logs until they sent up a sudden 
flame and the light fell upon the sleeper's still 
face. Turning, she gazed steadily at it — the face 
of the man who had won her; but her own face 
in the firelight was white and still and wore a 



46 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

strange expression. Now she moved noiselessly 
to his side and bent down as if to whisper in his 
ear, but suddenly drew back again and moved 
towards the door, then turning, gazed once more 
at his face and murmured : No, no, even a word 
faintly whispered would bring him a dream and 
it is better his sleep should be dreamless. For 
now he has had his day and it is finished, and 
to-morrow is mine. 



VI 



On the following day Athelwold was occupied 
with preparations for the King's reception and 
for the next day's boar hunt in the forest. At the 
same time he was still somewhat anxious as to his 
wife's more difficult part and from time to time 
he came to see and consult with her. He then 
observed a singular change in her, both in her 
appearance and conduct. No longer the radiant, 
loving Elfrida, her beauty now had been 
dimmed and she was unsmiling and her manner 
towards him repellent. She had nothing to say 
to him except that she wished him to leave her 
alone. Accordingly he withdrew, feeling a little 
hurt and at the same time admiring her extraor- 
dinary skill in disguising her natural loveliness 
and charm, but almost fearing that she was mak- 
ing too great a change in her appearance. 

Thus passed the day and in the late afternoon 
Edgar duly arrived, and when he had rested a 
little was conducted to the banqueting room 



48 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

where the meeting with Elfrida would take 
place. 

Then Elfrida came, and Athelwold hastened 
to the entrance to take her hand and conduct her 
to the King; then, seeing her, he stood still and 
stared in silent astonishment and dismay at the 
change he saw in her, for never before had he 
beheld her so beautiful, so queenly and mag- 
nificent What did it mean — did she wish to 
destroy him? Seeing the state he was in, she 
placed her hand in his and murmured softly, "I 
know best." And so, holding her hand, he con- 
ducted her to the King who stood waiting to re- 
ceive her. For all she had done that day to 
please and to deceive him had now been undone 
and everything that had been possible had been 
done to enhance her loveliness. She had arrayed 
herself in a violet-coloured silk gown with a 
network of gold thread over the body and wide 
sleeves to the elbows and rope of gold round her 
waist with its long ends falling to her knee. The 
great mass of her coiled hair was surmounted 
with a golden comb and golden pendants 
dropped from her ears to her shoulders. Also 
she wore gold armlets coiled serpent-wise round 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 49 

her white arms from elbow to wrist. Not a gem 
— nothing but pale yellow gold. 

Edgar himself was amazed at her loveliness, 
for never had he seen anything comparable to 
it; and when he gazed into her eyes she did not 
lower hers, but returned gaze for gaze, and there 
was that in her eyes and their strange eloquence, 
which kindled a sudden flame of passion in his 
heart and for a moment it appeared in his coun- 
tenance. Then, quickly recovering himself, he 
greeted her graciously, but with his usual 
kingly dignity of manner, and for the rest of the 
time he conversed with her and Athelwold in 
such a pleasant and friendly way that his host 
began to recover somewhat from his apprehen- 
sion. But in his heart Edgar was saying: And 
this is the woman that Athelwold, the close 
friend of all my days from boyhood until now, 
the one man in the world I loved and trusted, has 
robbed me of! 

And Athelwold at the same time was revolv- 
ing in his mind the mystery of Elfrida's action. 
What did she mean when she whispered to him 
that she knew best? And why, when she wished 
to appear in that magnificent way before the 



50 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

king, had she worn nothing but gold ornaments 
— not one of the splendid gems of which she pos- 
sessed such a store? 

She had remembered something which he had 
forgotten. 

Now when the two friends were left alone to- 
gether, drinking wine, Athelwold was still 
troubled in his mind, although his suspicion 
and fear were not so acute as at first and the 
longer they sat talking, until the small hours, the 
more relieved did he feel from Edgar's manner 
towards him. Edgar in his cups opened his 
heart and was more loving and free in his speech 
than ever before. He loved Athelwold as he 
loved no one else in the world and to see him 
great and happy was his first desire and he con- 
gratulated him from his heart on having found a 
wife who was worthy of him and would even- 
tually bring him, through her father, such great 
possessions as would make him the chief noble- 
man in the land. All happiness and glory to 
them both! and when a child was born to them 
he would be its godfather, and if happily by that 
time there was a queen she should be its god- 
mother. 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 51 

Then he recalled their happy boyhood's days 
in East Anglia, that joyful time when they first 
hunted and had many a mishap and fell from 
their horses when they pursued hare and deer 
and bustard in the wide open stretches of sandy 
country; and in the autumn and winter months 
'vhen they were wild-fowling in the great level 
flooded lands, w^here the geese and all wild fowl 
came in clouds and myriads. And now he 
laughed and now his eyes grew moist at the 
recollection of the irrecoverable glad days. 

Little time was left for sleep; yet they were 
ready early next morning for the day's great boar 
hunt in the forest, and only when the King was 
about to mount his horse did Elfrida make her 
appearance. She came out to him from the door, 
not richly dressed now, but in a simple white 
linen robe and not an ornament on her except 
that splendid crown of the red-gold hair on her 
head. And her face, too, was almost colourless 
now, and grave and still. She brought wine in a 
golden cup and gave it to the King, and he once 
more fixed his eyes on her and for some moments 
they continued silently gazing; each in that fixed 
gaze seeming to devour the secrets of the other's 



52 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

soul. Then she wished him a happy hunting, 
and he said in reply he hoped it would be the 
happiest hunting he had ever had. Then after 
drinking the wine he mounted his horse and rode 
away. And she remained standing very still, the 
cup in her hand, gazing after him as he rode side 
by side with Athelwold, until in the distance the 
trees hid him from her sight. 

Now when they had ridden a distance of three 
miles or more into the heart of the forest they 
came to a broad drive-like stretch of green turf 
and the king cried: This is just what I have 
been wishing for ! Come, let us give our horses a 
good gallop. And when they loosened the 
reins, the horses, glad to have a race on such a 
ground, instantly sprang forward; but Edgar, 
keeping a tight rein, was presently left twenty or 
thirty yards behind; then, setting spurs to his 
horse, he dashed forward, and on coming abreast 
of his companion drew his knife and struck him 
in the back, dealing the blow with such a con- 
centrated fury that the knife was buried almost 
to the hilt. Then, violently wrenching it out, he 
would have struck again, had not the earl with 
a scream of agony tumbled from his seat. The 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 53 

horse, freed from its rider, rushed on in a sudden 
panic and the king's horse side by side with it. 
Edgar, throwing himself back and exerting his 
whole strength, succeeded in bringing his horse 
to a stop at a distance of fifty or sixty yards, then 
turning, came riding back at a furious speed. 

Now w^hen Athelwold fell all those who were 
riding behind, the earl's and the king's men to 
the number of thirty or forty, dashed forward 
and some of them hurriedly dismounting, 
gathered about him as he lay groaning and 
writhing and pouring out his blood on the 
ground. But at the king's approach they drew 
quickly back to make way for him and he came 
straight on and caused his horse to trample on 
the fallen man. Then pointing to him with 
the knife he still had in his hand, he cried: 
That is how I serve a false friend and traitor! 
Then wiping the stained knife blade on his 
horse's neck and sheathing it he shouted. Back 
to Salisbury! and setting spurs to his horse gal- 
loped off towards the Andover road. 

His men immediately mounted and followed, 
leaving the earl's men with their master. Lift- 
ing him up they placed him on a horse and with 



54 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

a mounted man on each side to hold him up they 
moved back at a walking pace towards Wher- 
well. 

Messengers were sent ahead to inform Elf rida 
of what had happened, and then, an hour later, 
yet another messenger to tell that Athelwold when 
half way home had breathed his last. Then at 
last the corpse was brought to the castle and she 
met it with tears and lamentations. But after- 
wards, in her own chamber, when she had dis- 
missed all her attendants, as she desired to weep 
alone, her grief changed to joy. O glorious 
Edgar, she said, the time will come when you 
will know what I feel now, when at your feet, 
embracing your knees, and kissing the blessed 
hand that with one blow has given me life and 
liberty. One blow and your revenge was satis- 
fied and you had vv^on me; I know it— I saw it 
all in that flame of love and fury in your eyes at 
our first meeting, which you permitted me to 
see, which if he had seen he would have known 
that he was doomed. O perfect master of dis- 
simulation, all the more do I love and worship 
you for dealing with him as he dealt with you 
and with me ; caressing him with flattering words 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 55 

until the moment came to strike and slay. And 
I love you all the more for making your horse 
trample on him as he lay bleeding his life out 
on the ground. And now you have opened the 
w^ay with your knife you shall come back or 
call me to you when it pleases you, and for 
the rest of your life it will be a satisfaction to 
you to know that you have taken a modest woman 
as well as the fairest in the land for wife and 
queen, and your pride in me will be my happi- 
ness and glory. For men's love is little to 
me since Athelwold taught me to think meanly 
of all men, except you that slew him. And you 
'shall be free to follow your own mind, and be 
ever strenuous and vigilant and run after kingly 
pleasures, pursuing deer and wolf and beautiful 
women all over the land. And I shall listen to 
the tales of your adventures and conquests with 
a smile like that of a mother who sees her child 
playing seriously with its dolls and toys, talking 
to and caressing them. And in return you shall 
give me my desire, which is power and splen- 
dour; for these I crave, to be first and greatest, 
to raise up and cast down, and in all our life 
I shall be your help and stay in ruling this realn\^ 



56 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

so that our names may be linked together and 
shine in the annals of England for all time. 

When Edgar slew Athelwold his age was 
twenty-two, and before he was a year older he 
had married Elfrida, to the rage of that great 
man, the primate and more than premier, who, 
under Edgar, virtually ruled England. And in 
his rage, and remembering how he had dealt 
with a previous boy king, whose beautiful young 
wife he had hounded to her dreadful end, he 
charged Elfrida with having instigated her hus- 
band's murder and commanded the king to put 
that woman away. This roused the man and pas- 
sionate lover, and the tiger in the man, in Edgar, 
and the wise and subtle-minded ecclesiastic 
quickly recognised that he had set himself 
against one of a will more powerful and danger- 
ous than his own. He remembered that it was 
Edgar, who, when he had been deprived of his 
abbey and driven in disgrace from the land, had 
recalled and made him so great and he knew that 
the result of a quarrel between them would be a 
mighty upheaval in the land and the sweeping 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 57 

away of all his great reforms. And so, cursing 
the woman in his heart and secretly vowing ven- 
geance on her, he was compelled in the interests 
of the church to acquiesce in this fresh crime of 
the king. 



VII 

Eight years had passed since the king's mar- 
riage with Elfrida and the one child born to 
them was now seven, the darling of his parents, 
Ethelred the angelic child, who to the end of 
his long life would be praised for one thing only 
— his personal beauty. But Edward, his half- 
brother, now in his thirteenth year, was regarded 
by her with an almost equal af^fection, on ac- 
count of his beauty and charm, his devotion to 
his step-mother, the only mother he had known, 
and, above all, for his love of his little half- 
brother. He was never happy unless he was 
with him, acting the part of guide and instructor 
as well as playfellow. 

Edgar had recently completed one of his 
great works, the building of Corfe Castle, and 
now whenever he was in Wessex preferred it 
as a residence, since he loved best that part of 
England with its wide moors and hunting for- 
ests, and its neighbourhood to the sea and to 

58 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 59 

Portland and Poole water. He had been absent 
for many weeks on a journey to Northumbria, 
and the last tidings of his movements were 
that he was on his way to the south travelling 
on the Welsh border and intended visiting the 
Abbot of Glastonbury before returning to Dor- 
set. This religious house was already very great 
in his day; he had conferred many benefits on it 
and contemplated still others. 

It was summer time, a season of great heats, 
and Elfrida with the two little princes often 
went to the coast to spend a whole day in the 
open air by the sea. Her favourite spot was at 
the foot of a vast chalk down with a slight strip 
of woodland between its lowest slope and the 
beach. She was at this spot one day about noon 
where the trees were few and large, growing 
wide apart, and had settled herself on a pile of 
cushions placed at the roots of a big old oak 
tree, where from her seat she could look out 
over the blue expanse of water. But the hamlet 
and church close by on her left hand were 
hidden by the wood, though sounds issuing from 
it could be heard occasionally— shouts and 
bursts of laughter and at times the music of a 



6o DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

stringed instrument and a voice singing. These 
sounds came from her armed guard and other 
attendants who were speeding the idle hours of 
waiting in their own way, in eating and drinking 
and in games and dancing. Only two women re- 
mained to attend to her wants, and one armed 
man to keep watch and guard over the two boys 
at their play. 

They were not now far off, not over fifty 
yards, among the big trees; but for hours past 
they had been away out of her sight, racing on 
their ponies over the great down; then bathing 
in the sea, Edward teaching his little brother 
to swim; then he had given him lessons in tree- 
climbing, and now tired of all these exertions 
and for variety's sake they were amusing them- 
selves by standing on their heads. Little Ethel- 
ted had tried and failed repeatedly, then at last, 
with hands and head firmly planted on the 
sward, he had succeeded in throwing his legs up 
and keeping them in a vertical position for a 
few seconds, this feat being loudly applauded 
by his young instructor. 

Elfrida, who had witnessed this display from 
her seat, burst out laughing, then said to herself: 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 6i 

O how I love these two beautiful boys almost 
with an equal love albeit one is not mine! But 
Edward must be ever dear to me because of his 
sweetness and his love of me and, even more, his 
love and tender care of my darling. Yet am I 
not wholly free from an anxious thought of the 
distant future. Ah, no, let me not think of such 
a thing! This sweet child of a boy father and 
girl mother — the frail mother that died in her 
teens — he can never grow to be a proud, master- 
ful, ambitious man — never aspire to wear his 
father's crown. Edgar's first born, it is true, 
but not mine, and he can never be king. For 
Edgar and I are one; is it conceivable that he 
should oppose me in this — that we that are one 
in mind and soul shall at the last be divided and 
at enmity? Have we not said it an hundred 
times that we are one? One in all things except 
in passion. Yet this very coldness in me in 
which I differ from others is my chief strength 
and glory and has made our two lives one life. 
And when he is tired and satiated with the com- 
mon beauty and the common passions of other 
women he returns to me only to have his first 
love kindled afresh as when in love and pity I 



62 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

give myself to him and am his bride afresh as 
when first he had my body in his arms, it is to 
him as if one of the immortals had stooped to 
a mortal, and he tells me I am the flower of 
womankind and of the world, that my white 
body is a perfect white flower, my hair a shining 
gold flower, my mouth a fragrant scarlet flower 
and my eyes a sacred blue flower, surpassing all 
others in loveliness. And when I have satisfied 
him and the tempest in his blood has abated, 
then for the rapture he has had I have mine, 
when ashamed at his violence, as if it had been 
an insult to me, he covers his face with my hair 
and sheds tears of love and contrition on my 
breasts. O nothing can ever disunite us! Even 
from the first, before I ever saw him, when he 
was coming to me I knew that we were destined 
to be one. And he too knew it from the moment 
of seeing me and knew that I knew it; and when 
he sat at meat with us and looked smilingly at 
the friend of his bosom and spoke merrily to 
him, and resolved at the same time to take his 
life, he knew that by so doing he would fulfil 
my desire; and as my knowledge of the betrayal 
was first so the desire to shed that abhorred blood 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 63 

was in me first. Nevertheless I cannot be free 
of all anxious thoughts and fear too of my im- 
placable enemy and traducer who from a dis- 
tance watches all my movements, who reads 
Edgar's mind even as he would a book, and what 
he finds there writ by me he seeks to blot out; 
and thus does he ever thwart me. But though 
I cannot measure my strength against his it will 
not always be so, seeing that he is old and I am 
young, with Time and Death on my side, who 
will like good and faithful servants bring him 
to the dust, so that my triumph must come. 
And when he is no more I shall have time to 
unbuild the structure he has raised with lies for 
stones and my name coupled with some evil deed 
cut in every stone. For I look ever to the future, 
even to the end to see this Edgar with the light 
of life shining so brightly in him now, a vener- 
able king with silver hair, his passions cool, his 
strength failing, leaning more heavily on me; 
until at last, persuaded by me, he will step down 
from the throne and resign his crown to our son 
— our Ethelred. And in him and his son after 
him, and in his son's sons we shall live still in 
their blood and with them rule this kingdom of 



64 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

Edgar the Peaceful — a realm of everlasting 
peace. 

Thus she mused until overcome by her swift 
crowding thoughts and passions, love and hate, 
with memories dreadful or beautiful, of her past 
and strivings of her mind to pierce the future, 
she burst into a violent storm of tears so that 
her frame was shaken, and covering her eyes 
with her hands she strove to get the better of 
her agitation lest her weakness should be wit- 
nessed by her attendants. But when this tem^ 
pest had left her and she lifted her eyes again, 
it seemed to her that the burning tears which 
had relieved her heart had also washed away 
some trouble that had been like a dimness on all 
visible nature, and earth and sea and sky were 
glorified as if the sunlight flooding the world 
fell direct from the heavenly throne, and she 
sat drinking in pure delight from the sight of 
it and the soft warm air she breathed. 

Then to complete her happiness the silence 
that reigned around her was broken by a sweet 
musical sound of a little bird that sang from the 
tree-top high above her head. This was the red- 
start, and the tree under which she sat was its 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 65 

singing-tree to which it resorted many times a 
day to spend half an hour or so repeating its 
brief song at intervals of a few seconds — a small 
song that was like the song of the redbreast, 
subdued, refined and spiritualised as of a spirit 
that lived within the tree. 

Listening to it in that happy tender mood 
which had followed her tears, she gazed up and 
tried to catch sight of it but could see nothing 
but the deep-cut, green translucent clustering 
oak leaves showing the blue of heaven and shin- 
ing like emeralds in the sunlight. O sweet, 
blessed little bird, she said, are you indeed a 
bird? I think you are a messenger sent to as- 
sure me that all my hopes and dreams of the dis- 
tant days to come will be fulfilled. Sing again 
and again and again; I could listen for hours to 
that selfsame song. 

But she heard it no more; the bird had flown 
away. Then, still listening, she caught a differ- 
ent sound — the loud hoofbeats of horses being 
ridden at a furious speed towards the hamlet. 
Listening intently to that sound, she heard, on 
its arrival at the hamlet, a sudden great cry as 
if all the men gathered there had united their 



(A DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

voices In one cry; and she stood up and her 
women came to her and all together stood silently 
gazmg in that direction. Then the two boys who 
had been lying on the turf not far off came run- 
ning to them and caught her by the hands, one 
on each side, and Edward looking up at her 
white still face cried, Mother, what is it you 
fear? But she answered no word. Then again 
the sound of hoofs was heard, and they knew 
the riders were now coming at a swift gallop to 
them. And in a few moments they appeared 
among the trees, and reining up their horses at 
a distance of some yards, one sprang to the 
ground and advancing to the queen made his 
obeisance, then told her he had been sent to 
inform her of Edgar's death. He had been 
seized by a sudden violent fever in Gloucester- 
shire on his way to Glastonbury, and had died 
after two days' illness. He had been uncon- 
scious all the time, but more than once he had 
cried out On to Glastonbury! and now in obedi- 
ence to that command his body was being con- 
veyed for interment at the abbey. 



VIII 

She had no tears to shed, no word to say, nor 
was there any sense of grief at her loss. She 
had loved him— once upon a time; she had 
always admired him for his better qualities; 
even his excessive pride and ostentation had 
been pleasing to her; finally she had been more 
than tolerant of his vices or weaknesses, regard- 
ing them as matters beneath her attention. 
Nevertheless, in their eight years of married life 
they had become increasingly repugnant to her 
stronger and colder nature. He had degener- 
ated, bodily and mentally, and was not now like 
that shining one who had come to her at Wher- 
well Castle, who had not hesitated to strike the 
blow that had set her free. The tidings of his 
death had all at once sprung the truth on her 
mind that the old love was dead, that it had 
indeed been long dead and that she had actually 
come to despise him. 

But what should she do— what be— without 

67 



68 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

him! She had been his queen, loved to adora- 
tion, and he had been her shield; now she was 
alone, face to face with her bitter, powerful 
enemy. Now it seemed to her that she had been 
living in a beautiful, peaceful land, a paradise 
of fruit and flowers and all delightful things; 
that in a moment, as by a miracle, it had turned 
to a waste of black ashes still hot and smoking 
from the desolating flames that had passed over 
it. But she was not one to give herself over to 
despondency so long as there was anything to be 
done. Very quickly she roused herself to action 
and despatched messengers to all those powerful 
friends who shared her hatred of the great arch- 
bishop and would be glad of the opportunity 
now offered of wresting the rule from his hands. 
Until now he had triumphed because he had had 
the king to support him even in his most arbi- 
trary and tyrannical measures; now was the time 
to show a bold front, to proclaim her son as the 
right successor, and with herself, assisted by 
chosen councillors, to direct her boy, the power 
would be in her hands, and once more, as in 
King Edwin's day, the great Dunstan, disgraced 
and denounced, would be compelled to fly from 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 69 

the country lest a more dreadful punishment 
should befall him. Finally, leaving the two 
little princes at Corfe Castle, she travelled to 
Mercia to be with and animate her powerful 
friends and fellow-plotters with her presence. 

All their plottings and movements were 
known to Dunstan, and he was too quick for 
them. Whilst they, divided among themselves, 
were debating and arranging their plans he had 
called together all the leading bishops and coun- 
cillors of the late king and they had agreed that 
Edward must be proclaimed as the first born; 
and although but a boy of thirteen the danger 
to the country would not be so great as it would 
to give the succession to a child of seven years. 
Accordingly Edward was proclaimed king and 
removed from Corfe Castle while the queen was 
still absent in Mercia. 

For a while it looked as if this bold and 
prompt act on the part of Dunstan would have 
led to civil war; but a great majority of the 
nobles gave their adhesion to Edward, and El- 
frida's friends soon concluded that they were 
not strong enough to set her boy up and try 
to overthrow Edward, or to divide England 



70 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

again between two boy kings as in Edwin and 
Edgar's early years. 

She accordingly returned discomfited to Corfe 
and to her child, now always crying for his be- 
loved brother who had been taken from him; 
and there was not in all England a more miser- 
able woman than Elfrida the queen. For after 
this defeat she could hope no more; her power 
was gone past recovery — all that had made her 
life beautiful and glorious was gone. Now 
Corfe was like that other castle at Wherwell 
where Earl Athelwold had kept her like a caged 
bird for his pleasure when he visited her; only 
worse, since she was eight years younger then, 
her beauty fresher, her heart burning with secret 
hopes and ambitions, and the great world where 
there were towns and a king and many noble 
men and women gathered round him yet to be 
known. And all these things had come to her 
and were now lost — now nothing was left but 
bitterest regrets and hatred of all those who had 
failed her at the last. Hatred first of all and 
above all of her great triumphant enemy, and 
hatred of the boy king she had loved with a 
mother's love until now and cherished for many 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 71 

years. Hatred too of herself when she recalled 
the part she had recently played in Mercia, 
where she had not disdained to practise all her 
fascinating arts on many persons she despised 
in order to bind them to her cause and had there- 
by given cause to her monkish enemy to charge 
her with immodesty. It was with something like 
hatred too that she regarded her own child when 
he would come crying to her, begging her to take 
him to his beloved brother; carried away with 
sudden rage she would strike and thrust him 
violently from her, then order her women to 
take him away and keep him out of her sight. 

Three years had gone by during which she 
had continued living alone at Corfe, still under 
a cloud and nursing her bitter, revengeful feel- 
ing in her heart, until that fatal afternoon on 
the eighteenth day of March, 978. 

The young king, now in his seventeenth year, 
had come to these favourite hunting-grounds of 
his late father and was out hunting on that day. 
He had lost sight of his companions in a wood 
or thicket of thorn and furze, and galloping in 
search of them he came out from the wood on 



72 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

the further side, and there before him, not a mile 
away, was Corfe Castle, his old beloved home 
and the home still of the two beings he loved 
best in the world — his stepmother and his little 
half-brother. And although he had been sternly 
warned that they were his secret enemies, that 
it would be dangerous to hold any intercourse 
with them, the sight of the castle and his craving 
to look again on their dear faces overcame his 
scruples. There would be no harm, no danger 
to him and no great disobedience on his part to 
ride to the gates and see and greet them without 
dismounting. 

When Elf rida was told that Edward himself 
was at the gates calling to her and Ethelred to 
come out to him she became violently excited 
and cried out that God himself was on her side 
and had delivered the boy into her hands. She 
ordered her servants to go out and persuade him 
to come in to her, to take away his horse as soon 
as he had dismounted and not to allow him to 
leave the castle. Then, when they returned to 
say the king refused to dismount and again 
begged them to go to him, she went to the gates 
but without the boy, and greeted him joyfully, 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 73 

while he, glad at the meeting, bent down and 
embraced her and kissed her face. But when 
she refused to send for Ethelred and urged him 
persistently to dismount and come in to see his 
little brother who was crying for him, he began 
to notice the extreme excitement which burned 
in her eyes and made her voice tremble, and 
beginning to fear some design against him he 
refused again more firmly to obey her wish; then 
she to gain time sent for wine for him to drink 
before parting from her. And during all this 
time while his departure was being delayed her 
people, men and women, had been coming out 
until, sitting on his horse, he was in the midst 
of a crowd, and these too all looked on him with 
excited faces, which increased his apprehension, 
so that when he had drunk the wine he all at 
once set spurs to his horse to break away from 
among them. Then she, looking at her men, 
cried out, Is this the way you serve me! And 
no sooner had the words fallen from her lips 
than one man bounded forward, like a hound on 
its quarry, and coming abreast of the horse dealt 
the king a blow with his knife in the side. The 
next moment the horse and rider were free of 



74 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

the crowd and rushing away over the moor. A 
cry of horror had burst from the women gath- 
ered there when the blow was struck; now all 
were silent watching with white scared faces as 
he rode swiftly away; then presently they saw 
him swerve on his horse, then fall, with his right 
foot still remaining caught in the stirrup, and 
that the panic-stricken horse was dragging him 
at furious speed over the rough moor. 

Only then the queen spoke and in an agitated 
voice told them to mount and follow; and 
charged them that if they overtook the horse 
and found that the king had been killed, to bury 
the body where it would not be found, so that 
the manner of his death should not be known. 

When the men returned they reported that 
they had found the dead body of the king a mile 
away where the horse had got free of it and they 
had buried it in a thicket where it would never 
be discovered. 



IX 



When Edward in sudden terror set spurs to 
his horse; when at the same moment a knife 
flashed out and the fatal blow was delivered, 
Elfrida too, like the other women witnesses in 
the crowd, had uttered a cry of horror. But 
once the deed was accomplished and the assur- 
ance received that the jody had been hidden 
where it would never be found, the feeling ex- 
perienced at the spectacle was changed to one 
of exultation. For now at last, after three mis- 
erable years of brooding on her defeat, she had 
unexpectedly triumphed, and it was as if she 
already had her foot set on her enemies' necks. 
For now her boy would be king — happily there 
was no other candidate in the field; now her 
great friends from all over the land would fly 
to her aid and with them for her councillors she 
would practically be the ruler during the king's 
long minority. 

Thus she exulted; then, when that first tem- 
pest of passionate, excitement had abated, came 

75 



^G DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

a revulsion of feeling when the vivid recollec- 
tion of that pitiful scene returned and would not 
be thrust away; when she saw again the change 
from affection and delight at beholding her to 
suspicion and fear, then terror, come into the 
face of the boy she had loved; when she wit- 
nessed the dreadful blow and watched him when 
he swerved and fell from the saddle and the 
frightened horse galloped wildly away dragging 
him over the rough moor. For now she knew 
that in her heart she had never hated him; the 
animosity had been only on the surface and was 
an overflow of her consuming hatred of the pri- 
mate. She had always loved the boy and now 
that he no longer stood in her way to power she 
loved him again. And she had slain him! O 

• 

no, she was thankful to think she had not! His 
death had come about by chance. Her com- 
mands to her people had been that he was not 
to be allowed to leave the castle; she had re- 
solved to detain him, to hide and hold him a cap- 
tive, to persuade or in some way compel him 
to abdicate in his brother's favour. She could 
not now say just how she had intended to deal 
with him, but it was never her intention to mur- 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 77 

der him. Her commands had been misunder- 
stood and she could not be blamed for his death, 
however much she was to benefit by it. God 
would not hold her accountable. 

Could she then believe that she was guiltless 
in God's sight? Alas! on second thoughts she 
dared not affirm it. She was guiltless only in 
the way that she had been guiltless of Athel- 
wold's murder; had she not rejoiced at the part 
she had had in that act? Athelwold had de- 
served his fate and she had never repented that 
deed, nor had Edgar. She had not dealt the 
fatal blow then nor now, but she had wished for 
Edward's death even as she had wished for 
Athelwold's, and it was for her the blow was 
struck. It was a difficult and dreadful question. 
She was not equal to it. Let it be put off, the 
pressing question now was, what would man's 
judgment be — how would she now stand before 
the world? 

And now the hope came that the secret of the 
king's disappearance would never be known; 
that after a time it would be assumed that he 
was dead and that his death would never be 
traced to her door. 



78 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

A vain hope, as she quickly found! There 
had been too many witnesses of the deed, both of 
the castle people and those who lived outside 
the gates. The news spread fast and far as if 
carried by winged messengers, so that it was soon 
known throughout the kingdom and everywhere 
it was told and believed that the queen herself 
had dealt the fatal blow. 

Not Elfrida nor anyone living at that time 
could have foretold the effect on the people 
generally of this deed, described as the foul- 
est which had ever been done in Saxon 
times. There had in fact been a thou- 
sand blacker deeds in the England of that 
dreadful period, but never one that touched the 
heart and imagination of the whole people in 
the same way. Furthermore, it came after a 
long pause, a serene interval of many years in 
the everlasting turmoil — the years of the reign 
of Edgar the Peaceful, whose early death had 
up till then been its one great sorrow. A time 
too of recovery from a state of insensibility to 
evil deeds; of increasing civilisation and the 
softening of hearts. For Edward was the child 
of Edgar and his child-wife who was beautiful 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 79 

and beloved and died young; and he had in- 
herited the beauty, charm, and all engaging 
qualities of his parents. It is true that these 
qualities were known at first hand only by those 
who were about him; but from these the feeling 
inspired had been communicated to those out- 
side in ever widening circles until it was spread 
over all the land, so that there was no habitation, 
from the castle to the hovel, in which the name 
of Edward was not as music on man's lips. And 
we of the present generation can perhaps under- 
stand this better than those of any other in the 
past centuries, for having a prince and heir to the 
English throne of this same name so great in 
our annals, one as universally loved as was Ed- 
ward the Second, afterwards called the Martyr, 
in his day. 

One result of this general outburst of feeling 
was that all those who had been, openly or se- 
cretly, in alliance with Elfrida now hastened to 
dissociate themselves from her. She was told 
that by her own rash act in killing the king 
before the world she had ruined her cause for 
ever. 

And Dunstan was not defeated after all! He 



8o DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

made haste to proclaim the son, the boy of ten 
years, king of England and at the same time to 
denounce the mother as a murderess. Nor did 
she dare to resist him when he removed the little 
prince from Corfe Castle and placed him with 
some of his own creatures, with monks for 
schoolmasters and guardians, whose first lesson 
to him would be detestation of his mother. This 
lesson too had to be impressed on the public 
mind; and at once in obedience to this command 
every preaching monk in every chapel in the 
land raged against the queen, the enemy of the 
Archbishop and of religion, the tigress in human 
shape and author of the greatest crime known 
in the land since Cerdic's landing. No fortitude 
could stand against such a storm of execration. 
It overwhelmed her. It was, she believed, a 
preparation for the dreadful doom about to fall 
on her. This was her great enemy^s day and he 
would no longer be baulked of his revenge. She 
remembered that Edwin had died by the assas- 
sin's hand and the awful fate of his queen 
Elgitha, whose too beautiful face was branded 
with hot irons, and who was hamstrung and left 
to perish in unimaginable agony. She was like 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 8i 

the hunted roe deer hiding in a close thicket 
and listening, trembling, to the hunters shouting 
and blowing on their horns and to the baying 
of their dogs, seeking for her in the wood. 

Could she defend herself against them in her 
castle? She consulted her guard as to this with 
the result that most of the men secretly left her. 
There was nothing for her to do but wait in 
dreadful suspense, and thereafter she would 
spend many hours every day in a tower com- 
manding a wide view of the surrounding level 
country to watch the road with anxious eyes. 
But the feared hunters came not; the sound of 
the cry for vengeance grew fainter and fainter 
until it died into silence. It was at length borne 
in on her that she was not to be punished — at 
all events, not here and by man. It came as a 
surprise to everyone, herself included. But it 
had been remembered that she was Edgar's 
widow and the king's mother and that her power 
and influence were dead. Never again would 
she lift her head in England. Furthermore, 
Dunstan was growing old ; and albeit his zeal for 
religion, pure and undefiled as he understood it, 
was not abated, the cruel ruthless instincts and 



82 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

temper, which had accompanied and made it 
effective in the great day of conflict when he was 
engaged in sweeping from England the sin and 
scandal of a married clergy, had by now burnt 
themselves out. Vengeance is mine, saith the 
Lord, I will repay, and he was satisfied to have 
no more to do with her. Let the abhorred 
woman answer to God for her crimes. 

But now that all fear of punishment by man 
was over, this dreadful thought that she v/as 
answerable to God weighed more and more 
heavily on her. Nor could she escape by day 
or night from the persistent image of the mur- 
dered boy. It haunted her like a ghost in every 
room and when she climbed to a tower to look 
out it was to see his horse rushing madly away 
dragging his bleeding body over the moor. Or 
when she went out to the gate it was still to 
find him there, sitting on his horse, his face 
lighting up with love and joy at beholding her 
again; then the change, the surprise, the fear, 
the wine-cup, the attempt to break away, her 
cry — the unconsidered words she had uttered, 
and the fatal blow! The cry that rose from all 
England calling on God to destroy her! would 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 83* 

that be her torment — ^would it sound in her ears 
through all eternity? 

Corfe became unendurable to her, and eventu- 
ally she moved to Bere, in Dorset, where the 
lands were her property and she possessed a 
house of her own, and there for upwards of a 
year she resided in the strictest seclusion. 

It then came out and was quickly noised 
abroad that the king's body had been discovered 
long ago — miraculously it was said — in that 
brake near Corfe where it had been hidden; that 
it had been removed to and secretly buried at 
Wareham, and it was also said that miracles 
were occurring at that spot. This caused a fresh 
outburst of excitement in the country; the cry 
of miracles roused the religious houses all over 
Wessex and there was a clamour for possession 
of the remains. This was a question for the 
heads of the church to decide and it was even- 
tually decreed that the monastery of Shaftes- 
bury, founded by King Alfred, Edward's 
great-great-grandfather, should have the body. 
Shaftesbury, then, in order to advertise so im- 
portant an acquisition to the world, resolved to 
make the removal of the remains the occasion 



84 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

of a great ceremonyj a magnificent procession 
bearing the sacred remains from Wareham to 
the distant little city on the hill, attended by 
representatives from religious houses all over 
the country and by the pious generally. 

Elfrida, sitting alone in her house, brooding 
on her desolation, heard of all these happenings 
and doings with increasing excitement; then all 
at once resolved to take part herself in the pro- 
cession. This v^as seemingly a strange, an al- 
most incredible departure for one of her in- 
domitable character and so embittered against 
the primate, even as he v^as against her. But her 
fight v^ith him was now ended : she was defeated, 
broken, deprived of everything that she valued 
in life; it was time to think about the life to 
come. Furthermore, it now came to her that 
this was not her own thought but that it had been 
whispered to her soul by some compassionate 
being of a higher order, and it was suggested to 
her that here was an opportunity for a first step 
towards a reconciliation with God and man. 
She dared not disregard it. Once more she 
would appear before the world, not as the beau- 
tiful magnificent Elfrida, the proud and power- 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 85 

ful woman of other days, but as a humble peni- 
tent doing her bitter penance in public, one of a 
thousand or ten thousand humble pilgrims, clad 
in mean garments, riding only when overcome 
with fatigue, and at the last stage of that long 
twenty-five miles, casting off her shoes to climb 
the steep, stony road on naked, bleeding feet. 

This resolution, in which she was strongly sup- 
ported by the local priesthood, had a mollifying 
effect on the people, and something like compas- 
sion began to mingle with their feelings of 
hatred towards her. But when it was reported 
to Dunstan, he fell into a rage and imagined or 
pretended to believe that some sinister design 
was hidden under it. She was the same woman, 
he said, who had instigated the murder of her 
first husband by means of a trick of this kind. 
She must not be allowed to show her face again. 
He then despatched a stern and threatening mes- 
sage forbidding her to take any part in or show 
herself at the procession. 

This came at the last moment when all her 
preparations had been made; but she dared not 
disobey. The effect was to increase her misery. 
It was as if the gates of mercy and deliverance 



86 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

which had been opened, miraculously as she be- 
lieved, had now been once more closed against 
her; and it was also as if her enemy had said: I 
have spared you the branding with hot irons and 
slashing of sinews with sharp knives, not out of 
compassion but in order to subject you to a more 
terrible punishment. 

Despair possessed her, which turned to sullen 
rage when she found that the feeling of the peo- 
ple around had again become hostile, owing to 
the report that her non-appearance at the pro- 
cession was due to the discovery by Dunstan in 
good time of a secret plot against the state on her 
part. Her house at Bere became unendurable 
to her: she resolved to quit it, and made choice 
of Salisbury as her next place of residence. It 
was not far to go, and she had a good house there 
which had not been used since Edgar's death 
but was always kept ready for her occupation. 



X 



It was about the middle of the afternoon when 
Elfrida, on horseback and attended by her 
mounted guard of twenty or more men, followed 
by a convoy of carts with her servants and lug- 
gage, arrived at Salisbury, and was surprised 
and disturbed at the sight of a vast concourse of 
people standing without the gates. 

It has got abroad that she was coming to Salis- 
bury on that day and it was also known through- 
out Wessex that she had not been allowed to 
attend the procession to Shaftesbury. This had 
excited the people and a large part of the in- 
habitants of the town and the adjacent hamlets 
had congregated to witness her arrival. 

On her approach the crowd opened out on 
either side to make way for her and her men, and 
glancing to this side and that she saw that every 
pair of eyes in all that vast silent crowd were 
fixed intently on her face. 

Then came a fresh surprise when she found a 

87 



88 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

mounted guard standing with drawn swords be- 
fore the gates. The captain of the guard, lifting 
his hand, cried out to her to halt, then in a loud 
voice he informed her that he had been ordered 
to turn her back from the gates. Was it then to 
witness this fresh insult that the people had now 
been brought together! Anger and apprehen- 
sion struggled for mastery in her breast and 
choked her utterance when she attempted to 
speak. She could only turn to her men, and in 
instant response to her look they drew their 
swords and pressed forward as if about to force 
their way in. This movement on their part was 
greeted with a loud burst of derisive laughter 
from the town guard. Then from out of the 
middle of the crowd of lookers-on came a cry of 
Murderess! quickly followed by another shout 
of Go back, murderess, you are not wanted here! 
This was a signal for all the unruly spirits in the 
throng — all those whose delight is to trample 
upon the fallen — and from all sides there rose a 
storm of jeers and execrations, and it was as if 
she was in the midst of a frantic, bellowing herd 
eager to gore and trample her to death. And 
these were the same people that a few short years 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 89 

ago would rush out from their houses to gaze 
with pride and delight at her, their beautiful 
queen, and applaud her to the echo whenever she 
appeared at their gates. Now, better than ever 
before, she realised the change of feeling to- 
wards her from affectionate loyalty to abhor- 
rence, and drained to the last bitterest dregs the 
cup of shame and humiliation. 

With trembling hand she turned her horse 
round and bending her ashen white face low, 
rode slowly out of the crowd, her men close to 
her on either side, threatening with their swords 
those that pressed nearest and followed in their 
retreat by shouts and jeers. But when well out 
of sight and sound of the people she dismounted 
and sat down on the turf to rest and consider 
what was to be done. By and by a mounted man 
was seen coming from Salisbury at a fast gallop. 
He came with a letter and message to the queen 
from an aged nobleman, one she had known in 
former years at court. He informed her that he 
owned a large house at or near Amesbury which 
he could not now use on account of his age and 
infirmities, which compelled him to remain in 
Salisbury. This house she might occupy for as 



90 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

long as she wished to remain in the neighbour- 
hood. He had received permission from the 
governor of the town to offer it to her, and the 
only condition was that she must not return to 
Salisbury. 

There then was one friend left to the reviled 
and outcast queen — this aged, dying man! 

Once more she set forth with the messenger as 
guide and about set of sun arrived at the house, 
which was to be her home for the next two to 
three years, in this darkest period of her life. 
Yet she could not have found a habitation and 
surroundings more perfectly suited to her wants 
and the mood she was in. The house, which was 
large enough to accommodate all her people, was 
on the west side of the Avon, a quarter of a mile 
below Amesbury and two to three hundred yards 
distant from the river bank, and was surrounded 
by enclosed land with gardens and orchards, the 
river itself forming the boundary on one side. 
Here was the perfect seclusion she desired; here 
she could spend her hours and days as she ever 
loved to do in the open air without sight of any 
human countenance excepting those of her own 
people, since now strange faces had become hate- 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 91 

ful to her. Then again, she loved riding, and 
just outside of her gates was the great green ex- 
panse of the Downs, where she could spend hours 
on horseback without meeting or seeing a human 
figure except occasionally a solitary shepherd 
guarding his flock. So great was the attraction 
the Downs had for her, she herself marvelled 
at it. It was not merely the sense of power 
and freedom the rider feels on a horse, with 
the exhilarating effect of swift motion and 
a wide horizon. Here she had got out of 
the old and into a new world better suited 
to her changed spirit. For in that world of 
men and women in which she had lived 
until now all nature had become interfused with 
her own and other people^s lives — passions and 
hopes and fears and dreams and ambitions. Now 
it was as if an obscuring purple mist had been 
blown away, leaving the prospect sharp and 
clear to her sight as it had never been before. A 
wide prospect whose grateful silence was only 
broken by the cry or song of some wild bird. 
Great thickets of dwarf thorn-tree and brambles 
and gorse aflame with yellow flowers or dark to 
blackness by contrast with the pale verdure of 



92 DEAD MAN'S PLACK' 

the earth. And open reaches of elastic turf, its 
green suffused or sprinkled with red or blue or 
yellow, according to the kind of flowers proper 
to the season and place. The sight, too, of wild 
creatures: fallow deer, looking yellow in the 
distance against the dark gorse; a flock of bust- 
ards taking to flight on her approach would 
rush away, their spread wings flashing like 
silver-white in the brilliant sunshine. She was 
like them on her horse, borne swiftly as on wings 
above the earth, but always near it. Then, cast- 
ing her eyes up she would watch the soarers, the 
buzzards, or harriers and others, circling up 
from earth on broad, motionless wings, bird 
above bird, ever rising and diminishing, to fade 
away at last into the universal blue. Then, as if 
aspiring too, she would seek the highest point on 
some high down and sitting on her horse survey 
the prospect before her, the sea of rounded hills, 
hills beyond hills, stretching away to the dim 
horizon, and over it all the vast blue dome of 
heaven. Sky and earth, with thorny brakes and 
grass and flowers and wild creatures, with birds 
that flew low and others soaring up into heaven 
— ^what was the secret meaning it had for her? 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 93 

She was like one groping for a key in a dark 
place. Not a human figure visible, not a sign of 
human occupancy on that expanse! Was this 
then the secret of her elation? The all-powerful 
dreadful God she was at enmity with, whom she 
feared and fled from, was not here. He, or his 
spirit, was where man inhabited, in cities and 
other centres of population, where there were 
churches and monasteries. 

To think this was a veritable relief to her. God 
was where men worshipped him and not here! 
She hugged the new belief and it made her bold 
and defiant. Doubtless if he is here, she would 
say, and can read my thoughts, my horse in his 
very next gallop will put his foot in a mole-run 
and bring me down and break my neck. Or 
when yon black cloud comes over me, if it is a 
thunder-cloud, the lightning out of it will strike 
me dead. If he will but listen to his servant 
Dunstan this will surely happen. Was it God or 
the head shepherd of his sheep, here in England, 
who when I tried to enter the fold beat me off 
with his staff and set his dogs on me so that I was 
driven away, torn and bleeding, to hide myself in 
a solitary place? Would it then be better for 



94 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

me to go with my cries for mercy to his seat? O 
no, I could not come to him there; his door- 
keepers would bar the way and perhaps bring 
together a crowd of their people to howl at me: 
Go away, Murderess, you are not wanted here! 
Now in spite of those moments, or even hours, 
of elation, during which her mind would recover 
its old independence until the sense of freedom 
was like an intoxication; when she cried out 
against God that he was cruel and unjust in his 
dealings with his creatures, that he had raised 
up and given power to the man who held the rod 
over her, one who in God's holy name had com- 
mitted crimes infinitely greater than hers, and she 
refused to submit to him — in spite of it all she 
could never shake off the terrible thought that 
in the end, at God's judgment seat, she would 
have to answer for her own dark deeds. She 
could not be free of her religion. She was like 
one who tears a written paper to pieces and 
scatters the pieces in anger to see them blown 
away like snow-flakes on the wind ; who by and 
by discovers one sniall fragment clinging to his 
garments and looking at the half a dozen words 
and half words appearing on it adds others from 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 95 

memory or of his own invention. So she with 
what was left when she had thrust her religion 
away built for herself a different one which was 
yet like the old; and even here in this solitude 
she was able to find a house and sacred place for 
meditation and prayer, in which she prayed in- 
directly to the God she was at enmity with. For 
now invariably on returning from her ride to her 
house at Amesbury she would pay a visit to the 
Great Stones, the ancient temple of Stonehenge. 
Dismounting she would order her attendants to 
take her horse aw^ay and wait for her at a dis- 
tance so as not to be disturbed with the sound of 
their talking. Going in she would seat herself 
on the central or altar-stone and give a little time 
to meditation — to the tuning of her mind. That 
circle of rough-hewn stones, rough with grey 
lichen, were the pillars of her cathedral with the 
infinite blue sky for roof, and for incense the 
smell of flowers and aromatic herbs, and for 
music the far off faintly heard sounds that came 
to her from the surrounding wilderness — the 
tremulous bleating of sheep and the sudden wild 
cry of hawk or stone curlew. Closing her eyes 
she would summon the familiar image and vision 



96 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

of the murdered boy, always coming so quickly, 
so vividly, that she had brought herself to be- 
lieve that it was not a mere creation of her own 
mind and of remorse, a memory, but that he 
was actually there with her. Moving her 
hand over the rough stone, she would by and 
by let it rest, pressing it on the stone and 
would say, Now I have your hand in mine 
and am looking with my soul's eyes into 
yours, listen again to the words I have spoken 
so many times. You would not be here if 
you did not remember me and pity and even 
love me still. Know then that I am now alone 
in the world, that I am hated by the world be- 
cause of your bitter death. And there is not now 
one living being in the world that I love, for I 
have ceased to love even my own boy, your old 
beloved playmate, seeing that he has long been 
taken from me and taught with all others to 
despise and hate me. And of all those who in- 
habit the regions above, in all that innumerable 
multitude of angels and saints and of all who 
have died on earth and been forgiven, you alone 
have any feeling of compassion for me and can 
intercede for me. Plead for me — plead for me, 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 97 

O my son; for who is there in heaven or earth 
that can plead so powerfully for me that am 
stained with your blood! 

Then, having finished her prayer, and wiped 
away all traces of tears and painful emotions she 
would summon her attendants and ride home, in 
appearance and bearing still the Elfrida of her 
great days — the calm, proud-faced, beautiful 
woman who was once Edgar's queen. 



XI 



The time had arrived when Elfrida was de- 
prived of this, her one relief and consolation — ■ 
her rides on the Downs and the exercise of her 
religion at the temple of the Great Stones, when 
in the second winter of her residence at Ames- 
bury there fell a greater darkness than that of 
winter in England, when the pirate kings of the 
north began once more to frequent our shores 
and the daily dreadful tale of battles and mas- 
sacres and burning of villages and monasteries 
was heard throughout the kingdom. These in- 
vasions were at first confined to the Eastern 
countries, but the agitation, with movements of 
men and outbreaks of lawlessness, was every- 
where in the country, and the queen was warned 
that it was no longer safe for her to go out on 
Salisbury Plain. 

The close seclusion in which she had now to 
live, confined to house and enclosed land, affected 
her spirits, and this was her darkest period, and 

98 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 99' 

it was also the turning point in her life. For I 
now come to the strange story of her maid 
Editha, who despite her humble position in the 
house and albeit she was but a young girl in 
years, one, moreover, of a meek, timid disposi- 
tion, was yet destined to play an exceedingly im- 
portant part in the queen's history. 

It happened that by chance or design the 
queen's maid who was her closest attendant, who 
dressed and undressed her, was suddenly called 
away on some urgent matter, and this girl 
Editha, a stranger to all, was put in her place. 
The queen, who was in a moody and irritable 
state, presently discovered that the sight and 
presence of this girl produced a soothing effect 
on her darkened mind. She began to notice her 
when the maid combed her hair, when sitting 
with half-closed eyes in profound dejection she 
first looked attentively at that face behind her 
head in the mirror and marvelled at its fairness, 
the perfection of its lines and delicate colouring, 
the pale gold hair and strangely serious grey 
eyes that were never lifted to meet her own. 

What was it in this face, she asked herself, 
that held her and gave some rest to her tor- 



loo DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

mented spirit? It reminded her of that crystal 
stream of sweet and bitter memories, at Wher- 
well, on which she used to gaze and in which she 
used to dip her hands, then to press the wetted 
hands to her lips. It also reminded her of an 
early morning sky, seen beyond and above the 
green dew-wet earth, so infinitely far away, so 
peaceful with a peace that was not of this earth. 

It was not then merely its beauty that made 
this face so much to her, but something greater 
behind it, some inner grace, the peace of God in 
her soul. 

One day there came for the queen as a gift 
from some distant town a volume of parables and 
fables for her entertainment. It was beautiful to 
the sight, being richly bound in silk and gold em- 
broidery; but on opening it she soon found that 
there was little pleasure to be got from it on ac- 
count of the difficulty she found in reading the 
crabbed handwriting. After spending some 
minutes in trying to decipher a paragraph or two 
she threw the book in disgust on the floor. 

The maid picked it up and after a glance at the 
first page said it was easy to her and she asked if 
the queen would allow her to read it to her. 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK loi 

Elfrida, surprised, asked how it came about 
that her maid was able to read a difficult script 
with ease, or was able to read at all ; and this was 
the first question she had condescended to put to 
the girl. Editha replied that she had been 
taught as a child by a great uncle, a learned 
man; that she had been made to read volumes in 
a great variety of scripts to him, until reading 
had come easy to her, both Saxon and Latin. 

Then, having received permission she read the 
first fable aloud, and Elfrida listening, albeit 
without interest in the tale itself, found that the 
voice increased the girl's attraction for her. From 
that time the queen made her read to her every 
day. She would make her sit a little distance 
from her, and reclining on her couch, her head 
resting on her hand she would let her eyes dwell 
on that sweet saint-like face until the reading 
was finished. 

One day the maid read to her from the same 
book a tale of a great noble, an earldoman who 
was ruler under the king of that part of the 
country where his possessions were, whose 
power was practically unlimited and his word 
law. But he was a wise and just man, regardful 



102 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

of the rights of others, even of the meanest of 
men, so that he was greatly reverenced and loved 
by the people. Nevertheless, he too, like all 
men in authority, both good and bad, had his 
enemies and the chief of these was a noble of a 
proud and froward temper who had quarrelled 
with him about their respective rights in certain 
properties where their lands adjoined. Again 
and again it was shown to him that his contention 
was wrong: the judgments against him only 
served to increase his bitterness and hostility 
until it seemed that there would never be an end 
to that strife. This at length so incensed his 
powerful overlord that he was forcibly de- 
prived of his possessions and driven* out beg- 
gared from his home. But no punishment, how- 
ever severe, could change his nature; it only 
roused him to greater fury, a more fixed deter- 
mination to have his revenge, so that outcast as 
he was his enmity was still to be feared and he 
was a danger to the ruler and the community in 
general. Then, at last, the great earl said he 
would suffer this state of things no longer, and 
he ordered his men to go out and seek and take 
him captive and bring him up for a final judg- 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 103 

ment. This was done, and the ruler then said he 
would not have him put to death, as he was ad- 
vised to do, so as to be rid of him once for all, but 
would inflict a greater punishment on him. He 
then made them put heavy irons on his ankles, 
rivetted so that they should never be removed, 
and condemned him to slavery and to labour 
every day in his fields and pleasure grounds for 
the rest of his life. To see his hated enemy re- 
duced to that condition would, he said, be a satis- 
faction to him whenever he walked in his gar- 
dens. 

These stern commands were obeyed, and when 
the miserable man refused to do his task and 
cried out in a rage that he would rather die, he 
was scourged until the blood ran from the 
wounds made by the lash; and at last, to escape 
from his torture, he was compelled to obey, and 
from morning to night he laboured on the land, 
planting and digging and doing whatever there 
was to do, always watched by his overseer, his 
food thrown to him as to a dog; laughed and 
jeered at by the meanest of the servants. 

After a certain time, when his body grew 
hardened so that he could labour all day without 



I04 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

pain and, being fatigued, sleep all night without 
waking, though he had nothing but straw on a 
stone floor to lie upon; and when he was no 
longer mocked or punished or threatened with 
the lash, he began to reflect more and more on 
his condition, and to think that it would be pos- 
sible to him to make it more endurable. When 
brooding on it, when he repined and cursed, it 
then seemed to him worse than death; but when, 
occupied with his task, he forgot that he was the 
slave of his enemy, who had overcome and 
broken him, then it no longer seemed so heavy. 
The sun still shone for him as for others; the 
earth was as green, the sky as blue, the flowers 
as fragrant. This reflection made his misery 
less; and by and by it came into his mind that it 
would be lessened more and more if he could 
forget that his master was his enemy and cruel 
persecutor, who took delight in the thought of 
his sufferings; if he could imagine that he had a 
different master, a great and good man who had 
ever been kind to him and whom his sole desire 
was to please. This thought working in his mind 
began to give him a satisfaction in his toil, and 
this change in him was noticed by his taskmaster, 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 105 

who began to see that he did his work with an 
understanding so much above that of his fellows 
that all those who laboured with him were in- 
fluenced by his example and whatsoever the toil 
was in which he had a part the work was better 
done. From the taskmaster this change became 
known to the chief head of all the lands, who 
thereupon had him set to other more important 
tasks, so that at last he was not only a toiler with 
pick and spade and pruning knife, but his coun- 
sel was sought in everything that concerned the 
larger works on the land; in forming planta- 
tions, in the draining of wet grounds and build- 
ing houses and bridges and in making new roads. 
And in all these works he acquitted himself well. 
Thus he laboured for years and it all became 
known to the ruler, who at length ordered the 
man to be brought before him to receive yet an- 
other final judgment. And when he stood be- 
fore him, hairy, dirty and unkempt, in his 
ragged raiment, with toil-hardened hands and 
heavy irons on his legs, he first ordered the irons 
to be removed. 

The smiths came with their files and ham- 
mers and with much labour took them off. 



io6 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

Then the ruler, his powerful old enemy, spoke 
these words to him: I do not know what your 
motives were in doing what you have done in all 
these years of your slavery; nor do I ask to be 
told. It is sufficient for me to know you have 
done these things, which are for my benefit and 
are a debt which must now be paid. You are 
henceforth free, and the possessions you were 
deprived of shall be restored to you, and as to the 
past and all the evil thoughts you had of me and 
all you did to me, it is forgiven and from this day 
will be forgotten. Go in peace. 

When this last word had been spoken by his 
enemy, all that remained of the old hatred and 
bitterness went out of him, and it was as if his 
soul as well as his feet had been burdened with 
heavy irons and that they had now been removed 
and he was free with a freedom he had never 
known before. 

When the reading was finished the queen with 
eyes cast down remained for some time im- 
mersed in thought; then with a keen glance at 
the maid's face she asked for the book, and open- 
ing it began slowly turning the leaves. By and 
by her face darkened and in a stern tone of voice 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 107 

she said : Come here and show me in this book 
the parable you have just read, and then you 
shall also show me two or three other parables 
you have read to me on former occasions, which 
I cannot find. 

The maid, pale and trembling, came and 
dropped on her knees and begged forgiveness for 
having recited these three or four tales, which 
she had heard or read elsewhere and committed 
to memory and had pretended to read them out 
of the book. 

Then the queen in a sudden rage said: Go 
from me and let me not see you again if you do 
not wish to be stripped and scourged and thrust 
naked out of the gates! And you only escape 
this punishment because the deceit you have 
been practising on me is not, to my thinking, of 
your own invention but that of some crafty 
monk who is making you his instrument. 

Editha, terrified and weeping, hurriedly 
quitted the room. 

By and by, when that sudden tempest of rage 
had subsided, the despondence, which had been 
somewhat lightened by the maid's presence, 
came back on her so heavily that it was almost 



io8 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

past endurance. She rose and went to her sleep- 
ing room and knelt before a table on which stood 
a crucifix with an image of the Saviour on it — • 
the emblem of the religion she had so great a 
quarrel with. But not to pray. Folding her 
arms on the table and dropping her face on them 
she said: What have I done? And again and 
again she repeated: What have I done? Was it 
indeed a monk who taught her this deceit or 
some higher being who put it in her mind to 
whisper a hope to my soul? To show me a way 
of escape from everlasting death — to labour in 
his fields and pleasure grounds, a wretched slave 
with irons on her feet, to be scourged and 
mocked at, and in this state to cast out hatred and 
bitterness from my soul and all remembrance of 
the injuries he had inflicted on me — to teach my- 
self through long miserable years that this 
powerful enemy and persecutor is a kind and 
loving master. This is the parable, and now my 
soul tells me it would be a light punishment 
when I look at the red stains on these hands and 
when the image of the boy I loved and murdered 
comes back to me. This then was the message, 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 109 

and I drove the messenger from me with cruel 
threats and insult. 

Suddenly she rose and going hurriedly out 
called to her maids to bring Editha to her. They 
told her the maid had departed instantly on be- 
ing dismissed and had gone upwards of an hour. 
Then she ordered them to go and search for her 
in all the neighbourhood, at every house, and 
when they had found her to bring her back by 
persuasions or by force. 

They returned after a time only to say they 
had sought for her everywhere and had failed 
to find or hear any report of her but that some of 
the mounted men who had gone to look for her 
on the roads had not yet returned. 

Left alone once more she turned to a window 
which looked towards Salisbury and saw the 
westering sun hanging low in a sky of broken 
clouds over the valley of the Avon and the green 
downs on either side. And, still communing 
with herself, she said: I know that I shall not 
endure it long — this great fear of God — I know 
that it will madden me. And for the unforgiven 
who die mad there can be no hope. Only the 
sight of my maid's face with God's peace in it 



no DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

could save me from madness. No, I shall not go 
mad! I shall take it as a sign that I cannot be 
forgiven if the sun goes down without my seeing 
her again. I shall kill myself before madness 
comes and rest oblivious of life and all things, 
even of God's wrath, until the dreadful waking. 

For some time longer she continued standing 
motionless, watching the sun, now sinking be- 
hind a dark cloud, then emerging and lighting 
up the dim interior of her room and her stone- 
white, desolate face. 

Then once more her servants came back and 
with them Editha, who had been found on the 
road to Salisbury, half way there. 

Left alone together the queen took the maid by 
the hand and led her to a seat, then fell on her 
knees before her and clasped her legs and begged 
her forgiveness. When the maid replied that she 
had forgiven her and tried to raise her up she 
resisted, and cried: No, I cannot rise from my 
knees nor loose my hold on you until I have con- 
fessed to you and you have promised to save me. 
Now I see in you not my maid who combs my 
hair and ties my shoe strings but one that God 
loves, whom he exalts above the queens and 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK in 

nobles of the earth and while I cling to you he 
will not strike. Look into this heart that has 
hated him, look at its frightful passions, its 
blood guiltiness, and have compassion on me! 
And if you, O Editha, should reply to me that it 
is his will, for he has said it, that every soul 
shall save itself, show me the way. How shall 
I approach Him! Teach me humility! 

Thus she pleaded and abased herself. Never- 
theless it was a hard task she imposed upon her 
helper, seeing that humility of all virtues was the 
most contrary to her nature. And when she was 
told that the first step to be taken was to be 
reconciled to the church, and to the head of the 
church, her chief enemy and persecutor, whose 
monks, obedient to his command, had blackened 
her name in all the land, her soul was in fierce 
revolt. Nevertheless she had to submit, seeing 
that God himself through his Son when on 
earth and his Son's disciples had established the 
church, and by that door only could any soul ap- 
proach him. So there was an end to that con- 
flict, and Elfrida, beaten and broken, although 
ever secretly hating the tonsured keepers of her 
soul, set forth under their guidance on her weary 



112 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

pilgrimage — the long last years of her bitter ex- 
piation. 

Yet there was to be one more conflict between 
the two women — the imperious mistress and the 
humble-minded maid. This was when Editha 
announced to the other that the time had now 
come for her to depart. But the queen wished 
to keep her and tried by all means to do so, by 
pleading with her and by threatening to detain 
her by force. Then, repenting her anger and re- 
membering the great debt of gratitude owing to 
the girl, she resolved to reward her generously, to 
bestow wealth on her, but in such a form that it 
would appear to the girl as a beautiful parting 
gift from one who had loved her: only after- 
ward when they were far apart would she dis- 
cover its real value. 

A memory of the past had come to her — of 
that day, sixteen years ago, when her lover came 
to her and, using sweet, flattering words, poured 
out from a bag a great quantity of priceless 
jewels into her lap, and of the joy she had in the 
gift. Also hov/ from the day of Athelwold's 
death she had kept those treasures put away in 
the same bag out of her sight. Nor in all the 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 113 

days of her life with Edgar had she ever worn a 
gem, though she had always loved to array her- 
self magnificently, but her ornaments had been 
gold only, the work of the best artists in Europe. 
Now, in imitation of Athelwold, when his man- 
ner of bestowing the jewels had so charmed her, 
she would bestow them on the girl. 

Accordingly when the moment of separation 
came and Editha was made to seat herself, the 
queen standing over her with the bag in her 
hand said. Do you, Editha, love all beautiful 
things? And when the maid had replied that 
she did, the other said. Then take these gems 
which are beautiful, as a parting gift from me. 
And with that she poured out the mass of glitter- 
ing jewels into the girPs lap. 

But the maid, without touching or even look- 
ing at them and with a cry, I want no jewels! 
started to her feet so that they were all scattered 
upon the floor. 

The queen stared, astonished, at the face before 
her with its new look of pride and excitement, 
then with rising anger she said : Is my maid too 
proud then to accept a gift from me? Does she 



114 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

not know that a single one of those gems thrown 
on the floor would be more than a fortune to her? 

The girl replied in the same proud way: I am 
not your maid and your gems are no more to me 
than pebbles from the brook! 

Then all at once recovering her meek, gentle 
manner, she cried in a voice that pierced the 
queen's heart: O not your maid, only your 
fellow-worker in our Master's fields and pleas- 
ure grounds! Before I ever beheld your face 
and since we have been together my heart 
has bled for you and my daily cry to God 
has been, Forgive her! Forgive her, for his 
sake who died for our sins. And this shall I 
continue to cry though I shall see you no more 
on earth. But we shall meet again. Not, O un- 
happy queen, at life's end, but long afterwards — 
long, long years! long ages! 

Dropping on her knees she caught and kissed 
the queen's hand, shedding abundant tears on it, 
then rose and was quickly gone. 

Elfrida, left to herself, scarcely recovered 
from the shock of surprise at that sudden change 
in the girl's manner, began to wonder at her own 
blindness in not having seen through her dis- 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 115 

guise from the first. The revelation had come to 
her only at the last moment in that proud gesture 
and speech when her gift was rejected not with- 
out scorn. A child of nobles as great as any in 
the land, what had made her do this thing? 
What indeed but the heavenly spirit that was in 
her, the spirit that was in Christ— the divine pas- 
sion to save! 

Now she began to ponder on those last words 
the maid had spoken and the more she thought 
of them the greater became her sadness until it 
was like the approach of death. O terrible 
words! Yet it was what she had feared, even 
when she had dared to hope for forgiveness. Now 
she knew what her life after death was to be since 
the word had been spoken by those inspired lips. 
O dreadful destiny! To dwell alone, to tread 
alone that desert desolate, that illimitable waste 
of burning sand stretching from star to star 
through infinite space, where was no rock nor 
tree to give her shade, no fountain to quench her 
fiery thirst! For that was how she imaged the 
future life, as a desert to be dwelt in until in the 
end, when in God's good time — the time of One 



ii6 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

to whom a thousand years are as one day — she 
would receive the final pardon and be admitted 
to rest in a green and shaded place. 

Overcome with the agonising thought, she 
sank down on her couch and fell into a faint. 
In that state she was found by her women, re- 
clining still as death, with eyes closed, the white- 
ness of death in her face; and thinking her dead, 
they rushed out terrified, crying aloud and 
lamenting that the queen was dead. 



XII 

She was not dead. She recovered from that 
swoon, but never from the deep, unbroken sad- 
ness caused by those last words of the maid 
Editha, which had overcome and nearly slain 
her. She now abandoned her seclusion but the 
world she returned to was not the old one. The 
thought that every person she met was saying in 
his or her heart: This is Elfrida; this is the 
queen who murdered Edward the Martyr, her 
step-son, made that world impossible. The men 
and v/omen she now consorted with were the re- 
ligious and ecclesiastics of all degrees, and ab- 
bots and abbesses. These were the people she 
loved least, yet now into their hands she delib- 
erately gave herself; and to those who ques- 
tioned her, to her spiritual guides, she revealed 
all her life and thoughts and passions, opening 
her soul to their eyes like a manuscript for them 
to read and consider: and when they told her 
that in God's sight she was guilty of the murder 

117 



ii8 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

both of Edward and Athelwold, she replied that 
they doubtless knew best what was in God's mind 
and whatever they commanded her to do that 
should be done, and if in her own mind it was not 
as they said this could be taken as a defect in 
her understanding. For in her heart she was not 
changed and had not yet and never would learn 
the bitter lesson of humility. Furthermore, she 
knew better than they what life and death had in 
store for her, since it had been revealed to her by 
holier lips than those of any priest. Lips on 
which had been laid a coal from the heavenly 
altar, and what they had foretold would 
come to pass — that unearthly pilgrimage and 
'purification — that destiny, dreadful, ineluctable, 
that made her soul faint to think of it. Here, on 
this earth, it was for her to toil, a slave with 
heavy irons on her feet, in her master's fields and 
pleasure grounds, and these gowned men with 
shaven heads, wearing ropes of beads and cruci- 
fixes as emblems of their authority — these were 
the taskmasters set over her, and to these, she, 
Elf rida, one time queen in England, w^ould bend 
humbly in submission and confess her sins and 
kiss their hands, and uncomplainingly take 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 119 

whatever austerities or other punishments they 
decreed. 

Here then, at Amesbury itself, she began her 
works of expiation, and found that she too, like 
the unhappy man in the parable, could experi- 
ence some relief and satisfaction in her solitary,^ 
embittered existence in the work itself. 

Having been told that at this village where she 
was living, a monastery had existed and had been 
destroyed in the dreadful wars of two or three 
centuries ago, she conceived the idea of founding 
a new one, a nunnery, and endowing it richly, 
and accordingly the Abbey of Amesbury was 
built and generously endowed by her. 

This religious house became famous in after 
days and was resorted to by the noblest ladies in 
the land who desired to take the veil, including 
princesses and widow queens; and it continued 
to flourish for centuries, down to the Dissolution. 

This work completed, she returned, after 
nineteen years, to her old home at Wherwell. 
Since she had lost sight of her maid Editha she 
had been possessed with the desire to revisit that 
spot, where she had been happy as a young bride 
and had repined in solitude and had had her 



I20 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

glorious triumph and stained her soul with 
crime. She craved for it again, especially to 
look once more at the crystal current of the Test 
in which she had been accustomed to dip her 
hands. The grave, saintly face of Editha had 
reminded her of that stream; and Editha she 
might not see. She could not seek for her, nor 
speak to her, nor cry to her to come back to 
her, since she had said that they would meet no 
more on earth. 

Having become possessed of the castle which 
she had once regarded as her prison and cage, 
she ordered its demolition and used the materials 
in building the Abbey she founded at that spot, 
and it was taken for granted by the Church that 
this was done in expiation of the part she had 
taken in Athelwold's murder. And at this spot, 
where the stream had become associated in her 
mind with the thought of Editha and was a 
sacred stream, she resolved to end her days. But 
the time of her retirement was not yet, there was 
much still waiting for her to do in her master's 
fields and pleasure grounds. For no sooner had 
the tidings of her work in founding these monas- 
teries and the lavish use she was making of her 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 121 

great wealth been spread abroad than from 
many religious houses all over the land the cry 
was sent to her— the Macedonian cry to Paul 
to come over and help us. 

From the houses founded by Edgar the cry was 
particularly loud and insistent. There were 
forty-seven of them and had not Edgar died so 
soon there would have been fifty, that being the 
number he had set his heart on in his fervid zeal 
for religion. All, alas, were insufficiently en- 
dowed; and it was for Elfrida, as they were care- 
ful to point out, to increase their income from 
her great wealth, seeing that this would enable 
them to associate her name with that of Edgar 
and keep it in memory, and this would be good 
for her soul. 

To all such calls she listened, and she per- 
formed many and long journeys to the religious 
houses all over the country to look closely into 
their conditions and needs, and to all she gave 
freely or in moderation, but not always without 
a gesture of scorn. For in her heart of hearts she 
was still Elfrida and unchanged, albeit out- 
wardly she had attained to humility; only once 
during these years of travel and toil when shs> 



122 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

was getting rid of her wealth did she allow her 
secret bitterness and hostility to her ecclesiastical 
guides and advisers to break out. 

She was at Worcester, engaged in a confer- 
ence with the bishop and several of his clergy; 
they were* sitting at an oak table with some 
papers and plans before them, when the news 
was brought into the room that Archbishop 
Dunstan was dead. 

They all, except Elfrida, started to their feet 
with looks and exclamations of dismay as if some 
frightful calamity had come to pass. Then, 
dropping upon their knees with bowed heads 
and lifted hands they prayed for the repose of 
his soul. They prayed silently, but the silence 
was broken by a laugh from the queen. Starting 
to his feet the bishop turned on her a severe 
countenance and asked why she laughed at that 
solemn moment. 

She replied that she had laughed unthink- 
ingly, as the linnet sings, from pure joy of heart 
at the glad tidings that their holy archbishop had 
been translated to paradise. For if he had done 
so much for England when burdened with the 
flesh, how much more would he be able to do 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 123 

now from the seat or throne to which he would 
be exalted in heaven in virtue of the position his 
blessed mother now occupied in that place. 

The bishop, angered at her mocking words, 
turned his back on her, and the others, following 
his example, averted their faces but not one word 
did they utter. 

They remembered that Dunstan in former 
years, when striving to make himself all power- 
ful in the kingdom, had made free use of a 
supernatural machinery; that when he wanted a 
thing done and it could not be done in any other 
way, he received a command from heaven, 
brought to him by some saint or angel, to have it 
done, and the command had then to be obeyed. 
They also remembered that when Dunstan, as he 
informed them, had been snatched up into the 
seventh heaven, he did not on his return to earth 
say modestly, like St. Paul, that it was not lawful 
for him to speak of the things which he had 
heard and seen, but he proclaimed them to an 
astonished world in his loudest trumpet voice. 
Also, that when, by these means, he had estab- 
lished his power and influence and knew that he 
could trust his own. subtle brains to maintain his 



124 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

position, he had dropped the miracles and 
visions. And it had come to pass that when the 
Archbishop had seen fit to drop the supernatural 
element out of his policy,, the heads of the Church 
in England were only too pleased to have it so. 
The world had gaped with astonishment at these 
revelations long enough and its credulity had 
come near to the breaking point, on which ac- 
count the raking up of these perilous matters by 
the queen was fiercely resented. 

But the queen was not yet satisfied that enough 
had been said by her. Now she was in full re- 
volt, she must give out once for all the hatred 
of her old enemy, which his death had not ap- 
peased. 

What mean you. Fathers, she cried, by turning 
your backs on me and keeping silence? Is it 
an insult to me you intend or to the memory of 
that great and holy man who has just quitted the 
earth? Will you dare to say that the reports he 
brought to us of the marvellous doings he wit- 
nessed in heaven, when he was taken there, were 
false and the lies and inventions of Satan, whose 
servant he was? 

More than that she was not allowed to say, for 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 125 

now the bishop, in a mighty rage, swung round 
and dealing a blow on the table with such fury 
that his arm was disabled by it, he shouted at 
her: Not another word! Hold your mocking 
tongue, fiendish woman! Then plucking up his 
gown with his left hand for fear of being tripped 
up by it he rushed out of the room. 

The others, still keeping their faces averted 
from her, followed at a more dignified pace; and 
seeing them depart she cried after them: Go, 
Fathers, and tell your bishop that if he had not 
run away so soon he would have been rewarded 
for his insolence by a slap in the face. 

This outburst on her part caused no lasting 
break in her relations with the Church. It was 
to her merely an incident in her long day's toil in 
her Master's fields— a quarrel she had had with 
an overseer: while he, on his side, even before 
he recovered the use of his injured arm, thought 
it best for their souls, as well as for the interests 
of the Church, to say no more about it. Her great 
works of expiation were accordingly continued. 
But the time at length arrived for her to take her 
long desired rest before facing the unknown, 
dreaded future. She was not old in years, but 



126 DEAD MAN'S PLACK' 

remorse and a deep, settled melancholy and her 
frequent fierce wrestlings with her own rebel- 
lious nature as with an untamed dangerous ani- 
mal chained to her, had made hei old. Further- 
more, she had by now well nigh expended all her 
possessions and wealth, even to the gems she had 
once prized and then thrust away out of sight for 
many years and which her maid Editha had re- 
jected with scorn, saying they were no mor© to 
her than pebbles from the brook. 

Once more at Wherwell, she entered the 
Abbey and albeit she took the veil herself she 
was not under the same strict rule as her sister 
nuns. The Abbess herself retired to Winchester 
and ruled the convent from that city, while 
Elf rida had the liberty she desired to live and do 
as she liked in her own rooms and attend prayers 
and meals only when inclined to do so. There, 
as always, since Edward's death, her life was a 
solitary one, and in the cold season she would 
have her fire of logs and sit before it as in the old 
days in the castle, brooding ever on her happy 
and unhappy past and on the awful future, the 
years and centuries of suffering and purification. 

It was chiefly this thought of the solitariness 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 127^ 

of that future state, that companionless way, cen- 
turies long, that daunted her. Here in this 
earthly state, darkened as it was, there were yet 
two souls she could and constantly did hold com- 
munion with — Editha still on earth, though not 
with her, and Edward in heaven; but in that 
dreadful desert to which she would be banished 
there would be a great gulf set between her soul 
and theirs. 

But perhaps there would be others she had 
known, whose lives had been interwoven with 
hers, with whom she would be allowed to com- 
mune in that same place? Edgar of a certainty 
would be there, although Glastonbury had built 
him a chapel and put him in a silver tomb and 
had begun to call him Saint Edgar. Would he 
find her and seek to have speech with her? It 
was anguish to her even to think of such an en- 
counter. She would say: Do not come to me, 
for rather would I be alone in this dreadful soli- 
tude for a thousand years than have you, Edgar, 
for company. For I have not now one thought 
or memory of you in my soul that is not bitter. 
It is true- that I once loved you : even before I 
saw your face I loved you and said in my heart 



128 DEAD MAN'S PLACK^ 

that we two were destined to be one. And my 
love increased when we were united and you 
gave me my heart's desire — the power I loved 
and glory in the sight of the world. And al- 
though in my heart I laughed at your pretended 
zeal for a pure religion while you were gratify- 
ing your lower desires and chasing after fair 
women all over the land, I admired and gloried 
in your nobler qualities, your activity and 
vigilance in keeping the peace within your bor- 
ders and in making England master of the seas 
so that the pirate kings of the North ventured 
not to approach our shores. But on your own 
gross appetites you would put no restraint but 
gave yourself up to wine and gluttony and made 
a companion of Death — even in the flower of 
your age you were playing with Death, and when 
you had lived but half your years yoii rode away 
with Death and left me alone: you, Edgar, the 
mighty hunter and slayer of wolves, you rode 
away and left me to the wolves, alone, in a dark 
forest. Therefore the guilt of Edward's death is 
yours more than mine, though my soul is stained 
red with his blood, seeing that you left me to 



^ " DEAD MAN'S PLACK 129 

fight alone, and in my madness, not knowing 
what I did, I stained myself with this crime. 

But what you have done to me is of little 
moment, .seeing that mine is but one soul of the 
many thousands that were given into your 
keeping, and your crime in wasting your life for 
the sake of base pleasures was committed against 
an entire nation, and not of the living only but 
also the great and glorious dead of the race of 
Cerdic — of the men who have laboured these 
many centuries, shedding their blood on a hun- 
dred stricken fields, to build up this kingdom of 
England; and when their mighty work was com- 
pleted it was given into your hands to keep and 
guard. And you died and abandoned it; Death, 
your playmate, has taken you away and Edgar's 
peace is no more. Now your ships are scattered 
or sunk in the sea, now the invaders are again on 
your coasts as in the old dreadful days, burning 
and slaying, and want is everywhere and fear is 
in all hearts throughout the land. And the king, 
your son who inherited your beautiful face and 
nought beside except your vices and whatever was 
least worthy of a king, he too is now taking his 
pleasure, even as you took yours, in a gay be- 



130 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

jewelled dress, with some shameless woman at 
his side and a wine cup in his hand. O un- 
happy mother that I am, that I must curse the 
day a son was born to me! O grief im- 
mitigable, that it was my deed, my dreadful 
deed, that raised him to the throne — the 
throne that was Alfred's and Edmund's and 
Athelstan'sl 

These were the thoughts that were her only 
{Company as she sat brooding before her winter 
fire, day after day and winter following winter 
while the years deepened the lines of anguish on 
her face and whitened the hair that was once red 
gold. 

But in the summer time she was less unhappy, 
for then she could spend the long hours out of 
doors under the sky in the large, shaded gardens 
of the convent with the stream for boundary on 
the lower side. This stream had now become 
more to her than in the old days when languishing 
in solitude she had made it a companion and con- 
fidant. For now it had become associated in her 
mind with the image of the maid Editha, and 
when she sat again at the old spot on the banks, 
gazing on the swift crystal current, then dipping 



DEAD MAN'S PLACK 131 

her hand in it and putting the wetted hand to her 
lips, the stream and Editha were one. 

Then one day she was missed, and for a long 
time they sought for her all through the building 
and in the grounds without finding her. Then 
the seekers heard a loud cry and saw one of the 
nuns running towards the convent door, with her 
hands pressed to her face as if to shut out some 
dreadful sight, and when they called to her she 
pointed back towards the stream and ran on to 
the house. Then all the sisters who were out in 
the grounds hurried down to the stream to the 
spot where Elfrida was accustomed to sit and 
were horrified to see her lying drowned in the 
water. 

It was a hot, dry summer and the stream was 
low, and in stooping to dip her hand in the water 
she had lost her balance and fallen in, and al- 
though the water was but three feet deep she had 
in her feebleness been unable to save herself. 
She was lying on her back on the clearly-seen 
bed of many-coloured pebbles, her head pointing 
down-stream, and the swift, fretting current had 
carried away her hood and pulled out her long 
abundant silver-white hair, and the current 



132 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

played with her hair, now pulling it straight out, 
then spreading it wide over the surface, mixing 
its silvery threads with the hair-like green blades 
of the floating water-grass. And the dead face 
was like marble; but the wide-open eyes that had 
never wholly lost their brilliance and the beauti- 
ful lungwort blue colour were like living eyes — 
living and gazing through the crystal-clear 
running water at the group of nuns staring down 
with horror-struck faces at her. 

Thus ended Elfrida's darkened life; nor did 
it seem an unfit end; for it was as if she had 
fallen into the arms of the maiden who had in 
her thoughts become one with the stream— the 
saintly Editha through whose sacrifice and inter- 
cession she had been saved from death ever- 
lasting. 



AN OLD THORN 



THE little village of Ingden lies in a hollow 
of the South Wiltshire Downs, the most 
isolated of the villages in that lonely district. Its 
one short street is crossed at right angles in the 
middle part by the Salisbury road, and standing 
just at that point, the church on one hand, the 
old inn on the other, you can follow it with the 
eye for a distance of nearly three miles. First 
it goes winding up the low down under which 
the village stands, then vanishes over the brow, 
to reappear again a mile and a half further 
away, as a white band on the vast green slope of 
the succeeding down, which rises to a height of 
over six hundred feet. On the summit it van- 
ishes once more, but those who use it know it for 
a laborious road, crossing several high ridges 
before dropping down into the valley road lead- 
ing to Salisbury. 

When, standing in the village street, your eye 
travels up that white band, you can distinctly 

135 



136 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

make out, even at that distance, a small, solitary 
tree, standing near the summit — an old thorn 
with an ivy growing on it. My walks were often 
that way, and invariably on coming to that point, 
I would turn twenty yards aside from the road to 
spend half-an-hour seated on the turf near or 
under the old tree. These half-hours were al- 
ways grateful, and conscious that the tree drew 
me to it, I questioned myself as to the reason. It 
was, I told myself, nothing but mental curiosity: 
my interest was a purely scientific one. For 
how comes it, I asked, that a thorn can grow to a 
tree and live to a great age in such a situation, on 
a vast, naked down, where for many centuries, 
perhaps for thousands of years, the herbage has 
been so closely fed by sheep as to have the ap- 
pearance of a carpet or newly mown lawn? The 
seed is carried and scattered everywhere by the 
birds, but no sooner does it germinate and send 
up a shoot, than it is eaten down to the roots; for 
there is no scent that attracts a sheep more, no 
flavour it has greater taste for, than that of any 
forest seedling springing up amidst the minute 
herbaceous plants which carpet the downs. The 
thorn, like other organisms, has its own uncon- 



AN OLD THORN 137 

scious intelligence and cunning, by means of 
which it endeavours to save itself and fulfil its 
life. It opens its first tender leaves under the 
herbage, and, at the same time, thrusts up a ver- 
tical spine to wound the nibbling mouth ; and no 
sooner has it got a leaf or two and a spine, then 
it spreads its roots all round, and from each of 
them springs a fresh shoot, leaves, and protect- 
ing spine, to increase the chances of preserva- 
tion. In vain ! The cunning animal finds a way 
to defeat all this strategy, and after the leaves 
have been bitten off again and again, the infant 
plant gives up the struggle and dies in the 
ground. Yet we see that from time to time one 
survives — one, perhaps, in a million; but how? 
Whether by a quicker growth or a harder or 
more poisonous thorn, an unpalatable leaf, or 
some other secret agency, we cannot guess. First 
as a diminutive, scrubby shrub, with numerous 
iron-hard stems, with few and small leaves, but 
many thorns, it keeps its poor flowerless, frus- 
trate life for perhaps half a century or longer, 
without growing more than a couple of feet 
high ; and then, as by a miracle, it will spring up 
until its top shoots are out of reach of the brows- 



138 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

ing sheep, and in the end it becomes a tree with 
spreading branches and fully developed leaves, 
and flowers and fruit in their season. 

One day I was visited by an artist from a dis- 
tance, who, when shown the thorn, pronounced 
it a fine subject for his pencil, and while he made 
his picture, we talked about the hawthorn gen- 
erally, as compared with other trees, and agreed 
that — except in its blossoming time, when it is 
merely pretty — it is the most engaging, and per- 
haps the most beautiful of our native trees. We 
said that it was the most individual of trees, that 
its variety was infinite, for you never find two 
alike, whether growing in a forest, in groups or 
masses, or alone. We were almost lyrical in its 
praises. But the solitary thorn was always best, 
he said, and this one was perhaps the best of all 
he had seen; strange, and at the same time, dec- 
orative in its form, beautiful, too, in its appear- 
ance of great age, with unimpaired vigour and 
something more in its expression — that elusive 
something which we find in some trees and don't 
know how to explain. 

Ah, yes, thought I, it was this appeal to the 
aesthetic faculty which attracted me from the 



AN OLD THORN 139 

first, and not, as I had imagined, the mere curi- 
osity of the naturalist, interested m^ainly and al- 
ways in the habits of living things, plant or ani- 
mal. 

Certainly the thorn had strangeness! Its ap- 
pearance as to height was deceptive; one would 
have guessed it eighteen feet; measuring it, I 
was surprised to find it only ten. It has four 
separate boles, springing from one root, leaning 
a little away from each other, the thickest just a 
foot in circumference. The branches are few, 
beginning at about five feet from the ground, the 
foliage thin, the leaves throughout the summer 
stained with grey, rust-red and purple colour. 
Though so small, and exposed to the full fury of 
every wind that blows over that vast, naked 
down, it has yet an ivy growing on it — the 
strangest of the many strange ivy-plants I have 
seen. It comes out of the ground as two ivy 
trunks on opposite sides of the stoutest bole, but 
at a height of four feet from the surface the two 
join and ascend the tree as one round, iron- 
coloured and iron-hard stem, which goes curv- 
ing and winding snakewise among the branches 
as if with the object of roping them to save them 



'i40 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

from being torn off by the winds. Finally, rising 
to the top, the long serpent-stem opens out in a 
flat, disk-shaped mass of close-packed branchlets 
and twigs, densely set with small, round leaves, 
dark, dull green, and tough as parchment. One 
could only suppose that thorn and ivy had been 
partners from the beginning of life, and that the; 
union was equally advantageous to both. 

The small ivy disk, or platform, on top of the 
tree was a favourite stand and look-out for the 
downland birds. I seldom visited the spot with- 
out disturbing some of them, now a little com- 
pany of missel-thrushes, now a crowd of star- 
lings, then perhaps a dozen rooks, crowded to- 
gether, looking very big and conspicuous on 
their little platform. 

Being curious to find out something about the 
age of the tree, I determined to put the question 
to my old friend, Malachi, aged eighty-nine, 
who was born and had always lived in the par- 
ish, and had known the downs, and probably 
every tree growing on them for miles around, 
from his earliest years. It was my custom to 
drop in of an evening and sit with him, listening 
to his endless reminiscences of his young days. 



AN OLD THORN 141 

That evening I spoke of the thorn, describing its 
position and appearance, thinking that perhaps 
he had forgotten it. How long, I asked him, 
had the thorn been there? 

He was one of those men, usually of the 
labouring class, to be met with in such lonely, 
out-of-the-world places as the Wiltshire Downs, 
whose eyes never look old, however many their 
years may be, and are more like the eyes of a 
bird or animal than a human being, for they 
gaze at you and through you when you speak, 
without appearing to know what you say. So it 
was on this occasion. He looked straight at me 
with no sign of understanding, no change in his 
clear, grey eyes, and answered nothing. But I 
would not be put off, and when, raising my voice, 
I repeated the question, he replied, after another 
interval of silence, that the thorn "was never any 
different." 'Twas just the same, ivy and all, 
when he were a small boy. It looked just so old. 
Why, he remembered his father saying the same 
thing — 'twas the same when he were a boy, and 
'twas the same in his father's time. Then, 
anxious to escape from the subject, he began 
talking of something else. 



142 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

It struck me that, after all, the most interest- 
ing thing about the thorn was its appearance of 
great age, and this aspect I had now been told 
had continued for at least a century, probably for 
a much longer time. It produced a reverent 
feeling in me, such as we experience at the sight 
of some ancient stone monument. But the tree 
was alive, and because of its life, the feeling was 
perhaps stronger than in the case of a granite 
cross or cromlech or other memorial of an- 
tiquity. 

Sitting by the thorn one day, it occurred to me 
that, growing at this spot close to the road and 
near the summit of that vast down, numberless 
persons travelling to and from Salisbury must 
have turned aside to rest on the turf in the shade 
after that laborious ascent, or before beginning 
the long descent to the valley below. Travellers 
of all conditions, on foot or horseback, in carts 
and carriages, merchants, bagmen, farmers, 
drovers, gipsies, tramps and vagrants of all 
descriptions, and, from time to time, troops of 
soldiers. Yet never one of them had injured the 
tree in any way! I could not remember ever 
finding a tree growing alone by the roadside in 



AN OLD THORN 143 

a lonely place, which had not the marks of many 
old and new wounds inflicted on its trunk with 
knives, hatchets, and other implements. Here, 
not a mark, not a scratch had been made on any 
one of its four trunks, or on the ivy stem, by any 
thoughtless or mischievous person, nor had any 
branch been cut or broken off. Why had they, 
one and all, respected this tree? 

It was another subject to talk to Malachi 
about and to him I went after tea, and found him 
v/ith three of his neighbours, sitting by the fire 
and talking; for though it was summer, the old 
man always had a fire in the evening. 

They welcomed and made room for me, but I 
had no sooner broached the subject in my mind, 
than they all fell into silence, then, after a brief 
interval, the three callers began to discuss some 
little village matter. I was not going to be put 
off in that way, and, leaving them out, went on 
talking to Malachi about the tree. Presently, 
one by one, the three visitors got up and, re- 
marking that it was time to be going, they took 
their departure. 

The old man could not escape, nor avoid 
listening, and in the end, had to say something. 



144 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

He said he didn't know nothing about all them 
tramps and gipsies and other sorts of men who 
had sat by the tree; all he knowed was that the 
old thorn had been a good thorn to him — first 
and last. He remembered once, when he was a 
young man, not yet twenty, he went to do some 
work at a village five miles away, and being 
winter time, he left early, about four o'clock, to 
walk home over the downs. He had just got 
married, and had promised his wife to be home 
for tea at six o'clock. But a thick fog came up 
over the downs, and soon as it got dark, he lost 
himself. 'Twas the darkest, thickest night he 
had ever been out in; and w^henever he came 
against a bank or other obstruction, he would 
get down on his hands and knees and feel it up 
and down to get its shape and find out what it 
was, for he knew all the marks on his native 
downs. 'Twas all in vain — nothing could he 
recognise. In this way he wandered about for 
hours, and was in despair of getting home that 
night, when all at once there came a sense of 
relief, a feeling that it was all right, that some- 
thing was guiding him. 

I remarked that I knew what that meant: he 



AN OLD THORN 145 

had lost his sense of direction, and had now, all 
at once, recovered it. Such a thing had often 
happened. I once had such an experience my- 
self. 

No, it was not that, he returned. He had not 
'gone a dozen steps from the moment that sense 
of confidence came to him, before he ran into a 
tree, and feeling the trunk with his hands, he 
recognised it as the old thorn, and knew where 
he was. In a couple of minutes he was on the 
road, and ih less than an hour, just about mid- 
night, he was safe at home. 

No more could I get out of him, at all events 
on that occasion; nor did I ever succeed in ex- 
tracting any further personal experience, in spite 
of his having let out that the thorn had been a 
good thorn to him, first and last. I had, how- 
ever, heard enough to satisfy me that I had at 
length discovered the real secret of the tree's fas- 
cination. I recalled other trees which had sim- 
ilarly affected me, and how, long years ago, when 
a good deal of my time was spent on horseback, 
whenever I found myself in a certain district, I 
would go miles out of my way just to look at a 
solitary old tree, growing in a lonely place, and 



146 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

to sit for an hour to refresh myself, body and 
soul, in its shade. I had, indeed, all along sus- 
pected the thorn of being one of this order of 
mysterious trees; and from other experiences I 
had met with, one some years ago in a village in 
this same county of Wilts, I had formed the 
opinion that in many persons the sense of a 
strange intelligence and possibility of power in 
,such trees is not a mere transitory state, but an 
enduring influence which profoundly affects 
their whole lives. 

Determined to find out something more, I 
went to other villagers, mostly women, who are 
more easily disarmed and made to believe that 
you, too, know, and are of the same mind with 
them, being under the same mysterious power 
and spell. In this way, laying many a subtle 
snare, I succeeded in eliciting a good deal of in- 
formation. It was, however, mostly of a kind 
which could not profitably be used in any in- 
quiry into the subject; it simply went to show 
that the feeling existed, and was strong in many 
of the villagers. During this inquiry, I picked 
up several anecdotes about a person who lived in 
Ingden close upon three generations ago, and 



AN OLD THORN 147 

was able to piece them together so as to make a 
consistent narrative of his life. This was 
Johnnie Budd, a farm labourer, who came to his 
end in 1821, a year or so before my old friend, 
Malachi, was born. It is going very far back, 
but there were circumstances in his life which 
made a deep impression on the mind of that 
little community, and the story had lived on 
through all these years. 



II 



Johnnie had fallen on hard times, when, in 
an exceptionally severe winter season, he, with 
others, had been thrown out of employment at 
the farm where he worked. Then, with a wife 
and three small children to keep, he had, in his 
desperation, procured food for them one dark 
night in an adjacent field. But, alas! one of the 
little ones playing in the road with some of her 
companions, who were all very hungry, let it out 
that she wasn't hungry, that for three days she 
had had as much nice meat as she wanted to eat! 
Play over, the hungry little ones flew home to 
tell their parents the wonderful news. Why 
didn't they have nice meat like Tilly Budd, in- 
stead of a piece of rye bread without even drip- 
ping on it, when they were so hungry? Much 
talk followed, and spread from cottage to cot- 
tage, until it reached the constable's ears, and he, 
already informed of the loss of a wether taken 
from its fold close by, went straight to Johnnie 
and charged him with the offence. Johnnie lost 

148 



AN OLD THORN 149 

his head, and dropping on his knees, confessed 
his guilt and begged his old friend, Lampard, 
to have mercy on him and to overlook it for the 
sake of his wife and children. 

It was his first offence, but when he was taken 
from the lock-up at the top of the village street 
to be conveyed to Salisbury, his friends and 
neighbours, who had gathered at the spot to wit- 
ness his removal, shook their heads and doubted 
that Ingden would ever see him again. The 
confession had made the case so simple a one, 
that he had at once been committed to take his 
trial at the Salisbury Assizes, and as the time was 
near, the constable had been ordered to convey 
the prisoner to the town himself. Accordingly 
he engaged old Joe Blaskett, called Daddy in the 
village, to take them in his pony cart. Daddy 
did not want the job, but was talked or bullied 
into it, and there he now sat in his cart, waiting 
in glum silence for his passengers — a bent old 
man of eighty, with a lean, grey, bitter face, in 
his rusty cloak, his old rabbit-skin cap drawn 
down over his ears, his white, disorderly beard 
scattered over his chest. The constable, Lam- 
pard, was a big, powerful man, with a great, 



150 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

round, good-natured face; but just now he had 
a strong sense of responsibility, and to make sure 
of not losing his prisoner, he handcuffed him be- 
fore bringing him out and helping him to take 
his seat on the bottom of the cart. Then he got 
up himself to his seat by the driver's side. The 
last good-bye was spoken, the weeping wife be- 
ing gently led away by her friends, and the cart 
rattled away down the street. Turning into the 
Salisbury road it was soon out of sight over the 
near down, but half-an-hour later it emerged 
once more into sight beyond the great dip, and 
the villagers who had remained standing about 
at the same spot watched it crawling like a 
beetle up the long white road on the slope of the 
vast down beyond. 

Johnnie was now lying coiled up on his rug, 
his face hidden between his arms, abandoned 
to grief, sobbing aloud. Lampard, sitting 
athwart the seat so as to keep an eye on him, 
burst out at last: ^'Be a man, Johnnie, and stop 
your crying! 'Tis making things no better by 
taking on like that. What do you say. Daddy?'' 

"I say nought," isnapped the old man, and for 
a while they proceeded in silence except for 



AN OLD THORN 151 

those heartrending sobs. As they approached 
the old thorn tree, near the top of the long slope, 
Johnnie grew more and more agitated, his whole 
frame shaking with his sobbing. Again the 
constable rebuked him, telling him that 'twas a 
shame for a man to go on like that. Then with 
an efifort he restrained his sobs, and lifting a red, 
swollen, tear-stained face, he stammered out: 
^^Master Lampard, did I ever ask 'ee a favour in 
my life?" 

*What be after now?" said the other sus- 
piciously. "Well, no, Johnnie, not as I remem- 
ber." 

*'An' do 'ee think I'll ever come back home 
again, Master Lampard?" 

"Maybe, no — maybe, yes; 'tis not for me to 
say." 

"But 'ee knows 'tis a hanging matter?" 

" 'Tis that, for sure. But you be a young man 
with a wife and childer, and have never done no 
wrong before — not that I ever heard say. Maybe 
the judge'U recommend you to mercy. What do 
you say. Daddy?" 

The old man only made some inarticulate 
sounds in his beard, without turning his head. 



IS2 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

"But, Master Lampard, suppose I don't 
swing, they'll send I over the water and I'll 
never see the wife and children no more." 

"Maybe so ; I'm thinking that's how 'twill be." 

"Then will 'ee do me a kindness? 'Tis the 
only one I ever asked 'ee, and there'll be no 
chance to ask 'ee another." 

"I can't say, Johnnie, not till I know what 'tis 
you want." 

" 'Tis only this. Master Lampard. When wef 
git to th' old thorn let me out o' the cart and let 
me stand under it one minnit and no more." 

"Be you wanting to hang yourself before the 
trial, then?" said the constable, trying to make a 
joke of it. 

"I couldn't do that," said Johnnie, simply, 
"seeing my hands be fast and you'd be standing 
by." 

"No, no, Johnnie. 'Tis nought but just fool- 
ishness. What do you say, Daddy?" 

The old man turned round with a look of sud- 
den rage in his grey face which startled Lam- 
pard; but he said nothing, he only opened and 
shut his mouth two or three times without a 
sound. 



AN OLD THORN 153 

Meanwhile the pony had been going slower 
and slower for the last thirty or forty yards, and 
now when they were abreast of the tree stood 
still. 

'What be stopping for?" cried Lampard. 
"Get on— get on, or we'll never get to Salisbury 
this day." 

Then at length old Blaskett found a voice. 

*'Does thee know what thee's saying, Master 
Lampard, or be thee a stranger to this parish?" 

"What d'ye mean, Daddy? I be no stranger. 
IVe a known this parish and known 'ee these 
nine years." 

"Thee asked why I stopped when 'twas the 
pony stopped, knowing where we'd got to. But 
thee's not born here, or thee'd a known what a 
boss knows. An' since 'ee asks what I says, I 
says this : 'Twill not hurt 'ee to let Johnnie Budd 
stand one minute by the tree." 

Feeling insulted and puzzled, the constable 
was about to assert his authority when he was 
arrested by Johnnie's cry: ^^Oh, Master Lam- 
pard, 'tis my last hope!" and by the sight of 
the agony of suspense on his swollen face, after a 
short hesitation, he swung himself out over the 



154 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

side of the cart, and letting down the tailboard, 
laid rough hands on Johnnie and half-helped, 
half-dragged him out. 

They were quickly by the tree, where Johnnie 
stood silent with downcast eyes a few moments, 
then dropping upon his knees leant his face 
against the bark, his eyes closed, his lips mur- 
muring. 

"Time's up," cried Lampard presently, and 
taking him by the collar pulled him to his feet; 
in a couple of minutes more they were in the 
cart and on their way. 

It was grey weather, very cold, with an east 
wind blowing, but for the rest of that dreary 
thirteen miles journey, Johnnie was very quiet 
and submissive and shed no more tears. 



Ill 



What had been his motive in wishing to stand 
by the tree? What did he expect when he said 
it was his last hope? During the way up the 
long, laborious slope, an incident of his early 
years in connection with the tree had been in his 
mind, and had wrought on him until it culmi- 
nated in that passionate outburst and his strange 
request. It was when he was a boy not quite ten 
years old, that one afternoon in the summer- 
time he went with other children to look for wild 
raspberries on the summit of the great down. 
Johnnie, being the eldest, was the leader of the 
little band. On the way back from the brambly 
place where the fruit grew, on approaching the 
thorn, they spied a number of rooks sitting on it, 
and it came into Johnnie's mind that it would be 
great fun to play at crows by sitting on the 
branches as near the top as they could get. Run- 
ning on, with cries that sent the rooks cawing 
away, they began swarming up the trunks, but in 
the midst of their frolic, when they were all 

155 



iS6 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

struggling for the best places on the branches, 
they were startled by a shout, and looking up on 
the top of the down saw a man on horseback 
coming towards them at a gallop, shaking a 
whip in anger as he rode. Instantly they began 
scrambling down, falling over each other in 
their haste, then, picking themselves up, set off 
down the slope as fast as they could run. John- 
nie was foremost, while close behind him came 
Marty, who was nearly the same age and, though 
a girl, almost as swift-footed, but before going 
fifty yards, she struck her foot against an ant-hill 
and was thrown violently, face down, on the turf. 
Johnnie turned at her cry and flew back to help 
her up, but the shock of the fall and her extreme 
terror had deprived her for the moment of all 
strength, and while he struggled to raise her the 
smaller children one by one overtook and passed 
them, and in another moment the man was off his 
horse, standing over theni. 

^'Do you want a good thrashing?'* he said, 
grasping Johnnie by the collar. 

*'0h, sir, please don't hit me!" answered John- 
nie; then looking up, he was astonished to see 
that his captor was not the stern old farmer, the 



AN OLD THORN 157 

tenant of the down, he had taken him for, but a 
stranger and a strange-looking man, in a dark 
grey cloak with a red collar; he had a pointed 
beard and long black hair and dark eyes that 
were not evil, yet frightened Johnnie when he 
caught them gazing down on him. 

^^No, I'll not thrash you," said he, "because 
you stayed to help the little maiden; but I'll tell 
you something for your good about the tree you 
and your little mates have been climbing, bruis- 
ing the bark with your heels and breaking off 
leaves and twigs. Do you know, boy, that if you 
hurt it, it will hurt you? It stands fast here with 
its roots in the ground and you — you can go 
away from it, you think. 'Tis not so — something 
will come out of it and follow you wherever you 
go and hurt and break you at last. But if you 
make it a friend and care for it, it will care for 
you and give you happiness and deliver you from 
evil." 

Then touching Johnnie's cheek with his 
gloved hand, he got on his horse and rode away, 
and no sooner was he gone than Marty started 
up, and hand-in-hand the two children set off at 
a run down the long slope. 



158 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

Johnnie's playtime was nearly over then, for 
by and by he was taken as farmer's boy at one of 
the village farms. When he was nineteen years 
old, one Sunday evening when standing in the 
road with other young people of the village — 
youths and girls, it was powerfully borne on his 
mind that his old playmate Marty was not only 
the prettiest and best girl in the place, but that 
she had something which set her apart and far, 
far above all other women. For now, after hav- 
ing known her intimately from his first years, he 
had suddenly fallen in love with her, a feeling 
which caused him to shiver in a kind of ecstasy, 
yet made him miserable since it had purged his 
sight and made him see, too, how far apart they 
were and how hopeless his case. It was true they 
had been comrades from childhood, fond of each 
other, but she had grown and developed until 
she had become that most bright and lovely be- 
ing, while he had remained the same slow- 
witted, awkward, almost inarticulate Johnnie he 
had always been. This feeling preyed on his 
poor mind, and when he joined the evening 
gathering in the village street he noted bitterly 
how contemptuously he was left out of the con- 



AN OLD THORN 159 

versation by the others, how incapable he was of 
keeping pace with them in their laughing talk 
and banter. And, worst of all, how Marty was 
the leading spirit, bandying words and bestow- 
ing smiles and pleasantries all round, but never 
a word or a smile for him. He could not endure 
it, and so instead of smartening himself up after 
work and going for company to the village 
street, he would walk down the secluded lane 
near the farm to spend the hour before supper 
and bedtime* sitting on a gate, brooding on his 
misery; and if by chance he met Marty in the 
village he would try to avoid her and was silent 
and uncomfortable in her presence. 

After work one hot summer evening, Johnnie 
was walking along the road near the farm in his 
working clothes, clay-coloured boots and old 
dusty hat, when who should he see but Marty 
coming towards him, looking very sweet and 
fresh in her light-coloured print gown. He 
looked to this side and that for some friendly gap 
or opening in the hedge so as to take himself out 
of the road, but there was no way of escape at 
that spot, and he had to pass her, and so casting 
down his eyes he walked on, wishing he could 



i6o DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

sink into the earth out of her sight. But she 
would not allow him to pass; she put herself 
directly in his way and spoke. 

"What's the matter with 'ee, Johnnie, that 'ee 
don't want to meet me and hardly say a word 
when I speak to 'ee?" 

He could not find a word in reply: he stood 
still, his face crimson, his eyes on the ground. 

"Johnnie, dear, what is it?" she asked, coming 
closer and putting her hand on his arm. 

Then he looked up and seeing the sweet com- 
passion in her eyes, he could no longer keep the 
secret of his pain from her. 

" 'Tis 'ee, Marty," he said. "Thee'll never 
want I — there's others 'ee'U like better. 'Tisn't 
for I to say a word about that, I'm thinking, for 
I be — just nothing. An' — an' — I be going away 
from the village, Marty, and I'll never come 
back no more." 

"Oh, Johnnie, don't 'ee say it! Would 'ee go 
and break my heart? Don't 'ee know I've always 
loved 'ee since we were little mites together?" 

And thus it came about that Johnnie, most 
miserable of men, was all at once made happy 
beyond his wildest dreams. And he proved him- 



AN OLD THORN i6i 

self worthy of her; from that time there was not 
a more diligent and sober young labourer in the 
village, nor one of a more cheerful disposition, 
nor more careful of his personal appearance 
when, the day's work done, the young people 
had their hour of social intercourse and court- 
ing. Yet he was able to put by a portion of his 
weekly wages of six shillings to buy sticks so that 
when spring came round again he was able to 
marry and take Marty to live with him in his 
own cottage. 

One Sunday afternoon, shortly after this 
happy event, they went out for a walk on the 
high down. 

"Oh, Johnnie, 'tis a long time since we were 
here together, not since we used to come and 
play and look for cowslips when we were little." 

Johnnie laughed with pure joy and said they 
would just be children and play again, now they 
were alone and out of sight of the village. And 
when she smiled up at him he rejoiced to think 
that his union with this perfect girl was pro- 
ducing a happy effect on his poor brains, making 
him as bright and ready with a good reply as 
anyone. And in their happiness they played at 



i62 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

being children just as in the old days they had 
played at being grown-ups. Casting themselves 
down on the green, elastic, flower-sprinkled turf, 
they rolled one after the other down the smooth 
slopes of the terrace, the old ^'shepherd's steps," 
and by and by Johnnie, coming upon a patch of 
creeping thyme, rubbed his hands in the pale 
purple flowers, then rubbed her face to make it 
fragrant. 

*'0h, 'tis sweet r' she cried. "Did 'ee ever see 
so many little flowers on the down? 'Tis as if 
they came out just for us." Then indicating the 
tiny milkwort faintly sprinkling the turf all 
about them, "Oh, the little blue darlings! Did 
'ee ever see such a dear blue!" 

"Oh, aye, a prettier blue nor that," said John- 
nie. " 'Tis just here, Marty," and pressing her 
down he kissed her on the eyelids a dozen times. 

"You silly Johnnie !" 

"Be I silly, Marty? But I love the red, too," 
and with that he kissed her on the mouth. "And, 
Marty, I do love the red on the breasties, too — 
won't 'ee let me have just one kiss there?" 

And she, to please him, opened her dress a 
little way, but blushingly, though she was his 



AN OLD THORN 163 

'.■* 

wife and nobody was there to see, but it seemed 
strange to her out of doors with the sun over- 
head. Oh, 'twas all delicious ! Never was earth 
so heavenly sweet as on that wide green down, 
sprinkled with innumerable little flowers, under 
the wide blue sky, and the all-illuminating sun 
that shone into their hearts! 

At length, rising to her knees and looking up 
the green slope, she cried out: "Oh, Johnnie, 
there's the old thorn tree! Do 'ee remember 
when we played at crows on it and had such a 
fright? 'Twas the last time we came here to- 
gether. Come, let's go to the old tree and see 
how it looks now." 

Johnnie all at once became grave, and said 
No, he wouldn't go to it for anything. She was 
curious and made him tell her the reason. He 
had never forgotten that day and the fear that 
came into his mind on .account of the words the 
strange man had spoken. She didn't know what 
the words were: she had been too frightened to 
listen, and so he had to tell her. 

"Then, 'tis a -wishing-tree, for sure," Marty 
exclaimed. When he asked her what a wishing- 
tree was, she could only say that her old grand- 



i64 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

mother, now dead, had told her. 'Tis a tree that 
knows us and can do us good and harm, but will 
do good only to some. But they must go to it and 
ask for its protection, and they must offer it 
something as well as pray to it. It must be some- 
thing bright — a little jewel or coloured bead is 
best, and if you haven't got such a thing, a 
bright-coloured .ribbon, or strip of scarlet cloth 
or silk thread which you must tie to one of the 
twigs. 

*^But we hurted the tree. Marty, and 'twill do 
no good to we." 

They were both grave now; then a hopeful 
thought came to her aid. They had not hurt the 
tree intentionally: the tree knew that — it knew 
more than any human 'being. They might go 
and stand side by side under its branches and 
ask it to forgive them, and grant them all their 
desires. But they must not go empty-handed, 
they must have some bright thing with them 
when making their pra3^er. Then she had a 
fresh inspiration. She would take a lock of her 
own bright hair and braid it with some of his, 
and tie it with a piece of scarlet thread. 

Johnnie was pleased with this idea, and they 



AN OLD THORN 165 

agreed to take another Sunday afternoon walk 
and carry out their plan. 

The projected walk was never taken, for by 
and by Marty's mother fell ill and Marty had to 
be with her, nursing her night and day, and 
months went by, and at length when her mother 
died she was not in a fit condition to go long 
walks and climb those long steep slopes. After 
the child was born it was harder than ever to 
leave the house, and Johnnie, too, had so much 
work at the farm that he had little inclination to 
go out on Sundays. They ceased to speak of the 
tree, and their long-projected pilgrimage was 
impracticable until they could see better days. 
But the v/ished time never came, for after the 
first child, Marty was never strong ; then a second 
child came, then a third, and so five years went 
by of toil and suffering and love, and the tree, 
with all their hopes and fears and intentions re- 
garding it, was less and less in their minds and 
was all but forgotten. Only Johnnie, when at 
long intervals his master sent him to Salisbury 
with the cart, remembered it all only too well 
when, coming to the top of the down, he saw the 
old thorn directly before him. Passing it, he 



i66 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

would turn his face away not to see it-too closely, 
or perhaps to avoid being recognised by it. 
Then came the time of their extreme poverty, 
when there was no work at the farm and no one 
of their own people to help tide them over a 
season of 'scarcity, for the old people were dead, 
or in the workhouse, or so poor as to want help 
themselves. It was then that in his misery at the 
sight of his ailing, anxious wife — the dear Marty 
of the beautiful vanished days — and his three 
little hungry children, that he went out into the 
field one dark night to get them food. 

The whole sad history was in his mind as they 
slowly crawled up the hill, until it came to him 
that perhaps all their sufferings and this great 
disaster had been caused by the tree — by that 
something from the tree which had followed 
him, never resting in its mysterious enmity, until 
it broke him. Was it too late to repair that ter- 
rible mistake? A gleam of hope shone on his 
darkened mind, and he made his passionate ap- 
peal to the constable. He had no offering — -his 
hands were powerless now; but at least, he could 
stand by it and touch it with his body and face 
and pray for its forgiveness and for deliverance 



AN OLD THORN 167 

from the doom which threatened him. The con- 
stable had compassionately, or from some secret 
motive, granted his request, but alas! if in very 
truth the power he had come to believe in re- 
sided in the tree he was too late in seeking it. 

***** 

The trial was soon over. By pleading guilty 
Johnnie had made it a very simple matter for 
the court. The main thing was to sentence him. 
By an unhappy chance, the Judge was in one of 
his occasional bad moods; he had been enter- 
tained too well by one of the local magnates on 
the previous evening, and had sat late, drinking 
too much wine, with the result that he had a bad 
liver, with a mind to match it. He was only too 
ready to seize the first opportunity that offered — 
and poor Johnnie's case was the first that morning 
— of exercising the awful power a barbarous law 
had put into his hands. When the prisoner's de- 
fender declared that this was a case which called 
loudly for mercy, the judge interrupted him to 
say that he was taking too much upon himself, 
that he was in fact instructing the judge in his 
duties, which was a piece of presumption on his 



i68 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

part. The other was quick to make a humble 
apology and to bring his perfunctory address to 
a conclusion. The Judge, in addressing the 
prisoner, said he had been unable to discover any 
extenuating circumstances in the case. The fact 
that he had a wife and family dependent on him 
only added to his turpitude, since it proved that 
no consideration could serve to deter him from a 
criminal act. Furthermore, in dealing with this 
case, he must take into account the prevalence of 
this particular form of crime; he would venture 
to say that it had been encouraged by an extreme 
leniency in many cases on the part of those whose 
sacred duty it was to administer the law of the 
land. A sterner and healthier spirit was called 
for at the present juncture. The time had come 
to make an example, and a more suitable case 
than the one now before him could not have been 
found for such a purpose. He would accord- 
ingly hold out no hope of a reprieve, but would 
counsel prisoner to make the best use of the short 
time remaining to him. 

Johnnie, standing in the dock, appeared to the 
spectators to be in a half-dazed condition — as 
dull and spiritless a clod-hopper as they had 



AN OLD THORN igg 

ever beheld. The judge and barristers, in their 
wigs and robes and gowns, were unlike any 
human beings he had ever looked on. He might 
have been transported to some other worid so 
strange did the whole scene appear to him He 
only knew, or surmised, that all these important 
people were occupied in doing him to death 
but the process, the meaning of their fine 
phrases, he could not follow. He looked at them 
his glazed eyes travelling from face to face to be 
fixed finally on the judge in a vacant stare; but 
he scarcely saw them, he was all the time gazing 
on, and his mind occupied with other forms and 
scenes invisible to the court. His village his 
Marty, his dear little playmate of long ago' the 
sweet giri he had won, the wife and mother of 
his children, with her white, terrified face, cling- 
ing to him and crying in anguish : "Oh, Johnnie 
what will they do to 'ee?" And all the time' 
with It all, he saw the vast green slope of the 
down with the Salisbury road lying like a nar- 
row white band across it, and close to it, near the 
summit, the solitary old tree. 

During the delivery of the sentence, and when 
he was led from the dock and conveyed back to 



I70 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

the prison, that image or vision was still present. 
He sat staring at the wall of his cell as he had 
stared at the judge, the fatal tree still before him. 
Never before had he seen it in that vivid way in 
which it appeared to him now, standing alone on 
the vast green down, under the wide sky, its four 
separate boles leaning a little way from each 
other, like the middle ribs of an open fan, hold- 
ing up the wide, spread branches, the thin open 
foliage, the green leaves stained with rusty 
brown and purple, and the ivy rising like a 
slender black serpent of immense length spring- 
ing from the roots, winding upwards and in and 
out among the grey branches, binding them to- 
gether, and resting its round dark cluster of 
massed leaves on the topmost boughs. That 
green disk was the ivy-serpent's flat head and was 
the head of the whole tree, and there it had its 
eyes which gazed for ever over the wide downs, 
watching all living things, cattle and sheep and 
birds and men in their comings and goings; and 
although fast-rooted in the earth, following 
them, too, in all their ways, even as it had fol- 
lowed him to break him at last. 



POSTSCRIPT 



Dead Man's Plack 

/^NE of my literary friends who has looked 
at the Dead Man's Plack in manuscript, 
has said by way of criticism that Elf rida's char- 
acter is veiled. I am not to blame for that, for 
have I not already said, by implication at all 
events, in the Preamble, that my knowledge of 
her comes from outside. Something, or, more 
likely. Somebody, gave me her history, and it 
has occurred to me that this same Somebody was 
no such obscurity as, let us say, the Monk John 
of Glastonbury, who told the excavators just 
where to look for the buried chapel of Edgar, 
king and saint I suspect that my informant 
was someone who knew more about Elf rida than 
any mere looker-on, monk or nun, and gossip- 
gatherer of her own distant day; and this sus- 
picion or surmise was suggested by the follow- 
ing incident: 

173 



174 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

After haunting Dead Man's Plack where I 
had my vision, I rambled in and about Wherwell 
on account of its association, and in one of the 
cottages in the village I became acquainted with 
an elderly widow, a woman in feeble health but 
singularly attractive in her person and manner. 
Indeed, before making her acquaintance I had 
been informed by some of her relations and 
others in the place that she was not only the best 
person to seek information from, but was also 
the sweetest person in the village. She was a 
native born; her family had lived there for gen- 
erations, and she was one of that best South 
Hampshire type with an oval face, olive-brown 
skin, black eyes and hair, and that soft, melan- 
choly expression in the eyes common in Spanish 
women and not uncommon in the dark-skinned 
Hampshire women. She had been taught at the 
village school, and having attracted the attention 
and interest of the great lady of the place on ac- 
count of her intelligence and pleasing manners, 
she was taken when quite young as lady's maid 
and in this employment continued for many 
years until her marriage to a villager. 

One day, conversing with her, I said I had 



POSTSCRIPT I7S 

heard that the village was haunted by a ghost of 
a woman: was that true? 

Yes, it was true, she returned. 

Did she know that it was true? Had she 
actually see the ghost? 

Yes, she had seen it once. One day, when she 
was lady's maid, she was in her bedroom, dress- 
ing or doing something, with another maid. The 
door was closed, and they were in a merry mood, 
talking and laughing, when suddenly they both 
at the same moment saw a woman with a still, 
white face walking through the room. She was 
in the middle of the room when they caught 
sight of her, and they both screamed and covered 
their faces with their hands. So great was her 
terror that she almost fainted; then in a few 
moments when they looked the apparition had 
vanished. As to the habit she was wearing, 
neither of them could say afterwards what it was 
like : only the white, still face remained fixed in 
their memory, but the figure was a dark one like 
a dark shadow moving rapidly through the 
room. 

If Elfrida then, albeit still in purgatory, is 
able to re-visit this scene of her early life, and 



176 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

the site of that tragedy in the forest, it does not 
seem to me altogether improbable that she her- 
self made the revelation I have written. And if 
this be so, it would account for the veiled char- 
acter conveyed in the narrative. For even after 
ten centuries it may well be that all the cover- 
ings have not yet been removed, that although 
she has been dropping them one by one for ages, 
she has not yet come to the end of them. Until 
the very last covering, or veil, or mist is re- 
moved, it would be impossible for her to be ab- 
solutely sincere, to reveal her inmost soul with 
all that is most dreadful in it. But when 
that time comes, from the very moment of its 
coming she would cease automatically to be an 
exiled and tormented spirit. 

If, then, Elfrida is herself responsible for the 
narrative, it is only natural that she does not 
appear in it quite as black as she has been 
painted. For the monkish chronicler was, we 
know, the Father of Lies, and so indeed in a 
measure are all historians and biographers, since 
they cannot see into hearts and motives or know 
all the circumstances of the case. And in this 
case they were painting the picture of their hated 



POSTSCRIPT 177 

enemy, and no doubt were not sparing in the use 
of the black pigment. 

To know all is to forgive all, is a good saying, 
and enables us to see why even the worst among 
us can always find it possible to forgive himself. 



II 

An Old Thorn 

T WAS pleased at this opportunity of rescuing 
this story from a far-back number of the 
English Review, in which it first appeared, and 
putting it in a book. It may be a shock to the 
reader to be brought down from a story of a 
great king and queen of England in the tenth 
century to the obscure annals of a yokel and his 
wife who lived in a Wiltshire village only a 
century ago; or even less, since my poor yokel 
was hanged for sheep-stealing in 1821. But it 
is, I think, worth preserving, since it is the only 
narrative I know of dealing with that rare and 
curious subject, the survival of tree-worship in 
our own country. That, however, was not the 
reason of my being pleased. 

It was just when I had finished writing the 
story of Elfrida that I happened to see in my 

178 



POSTSCRIPT 179 

morning paper a highly eulogistical paragraph 
about one of our long dead and, I imagine, for- 
gotten worthies. The occasion of the paragraph 
doesn't matter. The man eulogized was Mr. 
Justice Park — Sir James Allan Park, a highly 
successful barrister, who was judge from 18 16 
to his death in 1838. "As judge, though not 
eminent, he was sound, fair and sensible, a little 
irascible, but highly esteemed." He was also the 
author of a religious work. And that is all the 
particular Liar who wrote his biography in the 
D. N. B. can tell us about him. 

It was the newspaper paragraph which re- 
minded me that I had written about this same 
judge, giving my estimate of his character in my 
book '^A Shepherd's Life," also that I was think- 
ing about Park, the sound and fair and sensible 
Judge, when I wrote "An Old Thorn." Here 
then, with apologies to the reader for quoting 
from my own book, I reproduce what I wrote in 
1905: 

"From these memories of the old villagers I 
turn to the newspapers of the day to make a few 
citations. 

"The law as it was did not distinguish between 



i8o DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

a case of the kind just related, of the starving, 
sorely-tempted Shergold, and that of the system- 
atic thief; sheep-stealing was a capital offence, 
and the man must be hanged, unless recom- 
mended to mercy, and we know what was meant 
by ^mercy' in those days. That so barbarous a law 
existed within memory of people to be found 
living in most villages appears almost incredible 
to us; but despite the recommendations to 
^mercy' usual in a large majority of cases, the law 
of that time was not more horrible than the tem- 
per of the men who administered it. There are 
good and bad among all, and in all professions, 
but there is also a black spot in most — possibly 
all — hearts, which may be developed to almost 
any extent, to change the justest, wisest, most 
moral men into 'human devils.' In reading the 
old reports and the expressions used by the 
judges in their summings up and sentences, it is 
impossible not to believe that the awful power 
they possessed, and its constant exercise, had not 
only produced the inevitable hardening effect, 
but had made them cruel in the true sense of the 
word. Their pleasure in passing dreadful sen- 
tences was very thinly disguised by certain lofty, 



POSTSCRIPT i8i 

conventional phrases as to the necessity of up- 
holding the law, morality and religion. They 
were, indeed, as familiar with the name of the 
Deity as any ranter in a conventicle, and the 
^enormity of the crime' was an expression as 
constantly used in the case of the theft of a loaf 
of bread, or of an old coat left hanging on a 
hedge, by some ill-clad, half-starved wretch, as 
in cases of burglary, arson, rape and murder. 

"It is surprising to find how very few the 
real crimes were in those days, despite the mis- 
ery of the people, that nearly all the ^crimes^ for 
which men were sentenced to the gallows and to 
transportation for life, or for long terms, were 
offences which would now be sufficiently pun- 
ished by a few weeks', or even a few days\ im- 
prisonment. Thus, in April, 1825, I note that 
Mr. Justice Park commented on the heavy ap- 
pearance of the calendar. It was not so much 
the number (170) of the offenders that excited 
his concern as it was the nature of the crimes 
with which they were charged. The worst 
crime in this instance was sheep-stealing! 

"Again, this same Mr. Justice Park, at the 
Spring Assizes at Salisbury, 1827, said that 



i82 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

though the calendar was a heavy one, he was 
happy to find on looking at the depositions of the 
principal cases, that they were not of a very 
serious character. Nevertheless, he passed sen- 
tence of death on twenty-eight persons, among 
them being one for stealing half-a-crown! 

^^Of the twenty-eight all but three were event- 
ually reprieved, one of the fated three being a 
youth of nineteen, who was charged with steal- 
ing a mare and pleaded guilty in spite of a warn- 
ing from the Judge not to do so. This irritated 
the great man who had the power of life and 
death in his hand. In passing sentence, the judge 
^expatiated on the prevalence of the crime of 
horse-stealing and the necessity of making an 
example. The enormity of Read's crime ren- 
dered him a proper example, and he would 
therefore hold out no hope of mercy towards 
him.' As to the plea of guilty, he remarked that 
nowadays too many persons pleaded guilty, de- 
luded with the hope that it w^ould be taken into 
consideration and they would escape the severer 
penalty. He was determined to put a stop to 
that sort of thing; if Read had not pleaded 
guilty, no doubt some extenuating circumstance 



POSTSCRIPT 183 

would have come up during the trial and he 
would have saved his life. 

^There, if ever, spoke the 'human deviP in a 
black cap! 

"I find another case of a sentence of trans- 
portation for life on a youth of eighteen, named 
Edward Baker, for stealing a pocket-handker- 
chief. Had he pleaded guilty it might have 
been worse for him. 

"At the Salisbury Spring Assizes, 1830, Mr. 
Justice Gazalee, addressing the grand jury, 
said that none of the crimes appeared to be 
marked with circumstances of great moral turpi- 
tude. The prisoners numbered 130. He passed 
sentences of death on twenty-nine, life trans- 
portations on five, fourteen years on five, seven 
years on eleven, and various terms of hard 
labour on the others." ("A Shepherd's Life"— 
pp. 241-4). 

Johnnie Budd was done to death before my 
principal informants, one eighty-nine years old, 
the other ninety-three, were born; but in their 
early years they knew the widow and her three 
children, and had known them and their children 
all their lives; thus, the whole story of Johnnie 



^ 
ji' 



i84 DEAD MAN'S PLACK 

and Marty was familiar to them. Now, when I 
thought of Johnnie's case and how he was treated 
at the trial, as it was told me by these old people, 
it struck me as so like that of the poor young man 
Read, who was hanged because he pleaded 
guilty, that I at once came to the belief that it 
was Mr. Justice Park who had tried him. I 
have accordingly searched the newspapers of 
that day, but have failed to fir^d Johnnie's case. 
I can only suppose that this particular case was 
probably considered too unimportant to be re- 
ported at large in the newspapers of 1821. He 
was just one of a number convicted and sen- 
tenced to capital punishment. 

When Johnnie was hanged, his poor wife 
travelled to Salisbury and succeeded in getting 
permission to take the body back to the village 
for burial. How she in her poverty, with her 
three little children to keep, managed it, I don't 
know. Probably some of the other poor vil- 
lagers who pitied and perhaps loved her helped 
her to do it. She did even more: she had a 
grave-stone set above him with his name and the 
dates of his birth and death cut on it. And there 
it is now, within a dozen yards of the churcK 



POSTSCRIPT fgj 

door in the small old churchyard— the smallest 
village churchyard known to me; and Johnnie's 
and Marty's children's children are still living 
in the village. 



THE END 



I 



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